


Sindri

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella Elements, F/M, First Love, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, POV Loki (Marvel), Prince Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Raised in the palace of the Asgardian Allfather since infancy as the result of a fragile peace treaty between Asgard and his home-world of Jotunheim, Loki Laufeyson has always longed for a taste of freedom, of adventure. When the Queen of Alfheim sends word throughout the Nine Realms that she will be holding a series of feasts and dances to choose the best suitor for her daughter, Loki hopes that his chance has finally come to see something of the other realms... until Odin Allfather informs him that he is forbidden from accompanying the royal family to Alfheim.Fortunately, Loki has a few tricks up his sleeve - tricks that he's never dared to use, until now.





	1. Invitation

The autumn had nearly gone when word first reached the golden palace of the King of Asgard that Fioled the Fair of Alfheim had begun to seek a match for her daughter. Gossip spread quickly through the court, and as always, Loki Laufeyson determined that it was nothing less than his solemn duty to get to the bottom of the rumors immediately. Exited at the prospect of something sensational to break up the day-to-day monotony of palace life, Loki hurried up the winding marble staircase that lead to his foster-mother’s solarium, certain that she would be more than willing to share the news. 

“I am here to see the queen,” he announced to the guards outside of the door, clasping his hands behind his back. He might’ve been less burly than the average Asgardian soldier, true, but he was more than tall enough to regally look down his nose at them, a simple fact which gave him a great deal of satisfaction. “Open the door.”

“She is not receiving anyone at the moment,” one of the guards replied, followed a second later by an unenthused, “Prince Loki.”

“She is receiving me,” Loki replied impatiently, and the guards jumped in alarm when he waved a hand, throwing the doors open with his magic. He strode past them, ignoring their weak protests and the perfectly-dainty gasps of Queen Frigga’s ladies, all apparently appalled, as usual, by his total disregard of manners. 

It wasn’t that Loki  _ lacked _ manners; no, he was perfectly charming and possessed more courtly graces than many others, when he wished. The tricky part was predicting when he would  _ wish _ to be well-mannered, and it was a conundrum that the king and queen had yet to untangle. 

“My son,” she chastened, rising and setting her needlework aside, “you really should show more restraint; there are ladies present.” But she waved them away, all the same, and once the last of them had fled from the chamber, she smiled up at him. “You have been practicing.”

“I have precious little else to do with my time,” Loki said, trying to mask his pride at the fact that the queen had noticed his strengthening spellwork. “If Odin will not allow me to venture outside of the palace, then how else am I supposed to keep myself occupied? One can only spend so much of the day fighting.”

“Your father—”

“He isn’t my father.”

Queen Frigga’s lips pursed. “The king worries over the security of the realm, Loki.”

“I have lived in Asgard since infancy,” he replied. “I have no memory of Jotunheim, or of Laufey, or Fárbauti - my  _ true _ parents. How is it that Odin still cannot trust me?”

“Is this why you came to speak with me?”

“No,” he said, sighing, “it isn’t. I thought that you might know if these rumors about the Alfen queen searching for a match for her daughter are true. I have heard that she is making something of a game out of it, and the court is full of whispers.”

She moved to sit by one of the large windows, patting the cushion beside her. “Come and sit with me,” she said. “The king had planned to speak on the subject at dinner tonight in the Great Hall, but I know how much you love your secrets.”

“That I do. What is the truth of it all?” He sat beside her, and the queen took his arm, leaning against his shoulder, just as he had leaned against hers when he was a boy. 

“Fioled of Alfheim is ready to find a match for her daughter, that is true. It is also true that, in her typical fashion, she has decided to make an utter spectacle of the entire thing. It has been centuries since the elves held the full attention of the Nine Realms, and I have no doubt that Queen Fioled is delighted by all of this speculation.”

“I see.” Loki had only encountered the occasional elf in the Asgardian court, typically lords serving as emissaries from their queen. He had never been particularly impressed; they all seemed like a pompous lot, aloof and unfriendly as they strolled through the gilded palace halls. Still, it could not be denied that their women were often lovely to look upon, and he could not suppress his burning curiosity. “And the princess,” he said, “is she as fair as her mother?”

“I have heard that she is very lovely,” the queen replied, “but a bit headstrong, perhaps more than her mother would like. There is to be a month of festivities during the usual midwinter celebrations, and Fioled and her daughter will choose the best suitor out of every eligible man in the realms.”

“A month seems a bit excessive, doesn’t it?”

“Really, Loki, do you think that a few days is enough time for a girl to select a husband?” she asked, patting his hand. “Besides, the common folk love festivities, and Fioled has always been remarkably good at keeping her people content. That is one reason that Alfheim rarely sees episodes of political unrest, unlike some other realms.”

“You should tell Odin, Mother. Things have been dreadfully dull on Asgard for decades. I cannot recall the last time we had any sort of amusement.”

“I will have to see that you have an unforgettable name-day celebration this year, then,” she teased. “At least you will be able to leave the palace for a time. I cannot imagine that the king would refuse you the opportunity to meet with so many of the ruling families of the Nine Realms.”

“I can imagine it,” Loki replied. “If he cared about me endearing myself to the other realms, he would not keep me locked away.”

Frigga’s smile was tinged with regret. “For all his wisdom, I fear that Odin allows old grudges to cloud his judgment. I am sorry, Loki.”

He could not bear to see her upset, this one person in all of his life who he might truly be able to believe cared for him, and so Loki relented and changed the subject, asking her about her garden. Gardening did not interest him in the slightest, but the flowers were an innocent topic, and he could tell that it lightened her mood considerably. 

By the time he left Frigga, Loki was famished, and he headed to his own chambers, waving down a passing servant in the hall as he went. “Bring food to my study,” he said. Alfheim suddenly seemed like an irresistible topic for research. 

The servant brought him his tray as he was just beginning to stack relevant tomes on the table by his armchair. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Prince Loki?” she asked, her eyes downcast. 

“No,” he replied. “Leave.”

He despised the way the new servants always looked at him - or refused to look at him, to be more accurate. He had been in Odin Allfather’s care since infancy, yet  _ still  _ he had to endure their whispers, their  _ judgment.  _ It was not his fault that he lived among them, a lone Frost Giant in the gleaming halls of the Realm of the Gods. It was not his fault that he looked so distinct, so  _ different _ \- though it was true that he did not make it easy for them to forget. 

When he was still very young, Loki had learned that his innate magical abilities, nurtured by Frigga Allmother, extended to shifting his form. He had discovered this one afternoon in his chambers, but had yet to reveal the fact that he could change his skin to anyone, even the queen. Instead, he prowled through the palace halls blue-skinned and crimson-eyed, his dark hair long and braided, just as he would’ve worn it if he’d lived in Jotunheim. 

Loki knew almost nothing of Jotunheim, save for what he had learned in books and from the taunts of other children in the palace. When he had first been sent into Odin’s care as a child, a hostage for a fragile peace treaty between his father and the King of Asgard, he had no Jötunn attendants accompanying him; there had been a wizened old giantess nurse to care for him, once, but she had been sent back to Jotunheim as soon as he was old enough to walk, and Loki barely remembered her. 

Queen Frigga had always been kind to him, for reasons that Loki had never entirely understood, and therefore, did not entirely trust. He’d heard his governesses whisper that the queen thought of Loki as a gift from the Norns, an ironic sort of replacement for her firstborn, Baldur, who had died in the wars against Jotunheim. If Frigga  _ did _ view Loki as a gift, however, it was equally true to say that Odin Allfather seemed to view him as a curse. 

It could not be denied that the king spared no expense to see that Loki was raised as a prince, trained and educated by the best tutors in all of Asgard. Sometimes, rarely, Odin would show some faint hint of affection towards him, but it never lasted long, and the older Loki grew, the rarer such instances became. By the time he’d reached manhood, there was something  _ different  _ in the way the king looked at him, almost as if he was waiting for Loki to grow horns and begin rampaging through the city. 

Tall and well-muscled, Loki supposed it was difficult for the king - or anyone else - to ignore the fact that he was a Frost Giant - though admittedly somewhat shorter than the average Jötunn. As a child, he’d always been small and almost frail, and that seemed to help make it easier for many of the Asgardians in the Allfather’s palace to simply pretend that he did not exist. 

There was no longer any hope of ignoring him. 

Sometimes, he wished that it was easier for him to melt into the shadows, but truthfully, Loki often craved acknowledgement. He was clever with his studies, dedicated with his arms training, gifted with his budding magical abilities… but it was never enough. His foster-brother Thor took all of Odin’s love and pride, whether he meant to or not, and Loki was left wanting for scraps of affection from a man who had laid his realm to waste. 

He threw himself down on his bed, still fully-clothed, and closed his eyes, distracting himself from more sullen thoughts by conjuring up images of the Princess of Alfheim, this fresh source of intrigue. Her mother Fioled the Fair was known throughout the Nine Realms for being an ethereal beauty, and he could only imagine that her daughter was lovely to see, as well. He wondered if he would have the opportunity to dance with her during the balls on Alfheim, or if her time would be monopolized by better, handsomer suitors. 

_ One dance,  _ Loki told himself.  _ I will have one dance with the princess, and perhaps I will manage to make her laugh, and all of the other men will be madly envious of me.  _ He rolled over onto his belly with a frustrated sigh; it was a ridiculous thing to imagine, he knew - a ridiculous thing to even  _ want,  _ but the thought of it still filled him with an odd sense of longing. 

And though he slept deeply that night, his sleep was plagued with dreams. 

~*~*~*~

It was after breakfast the following morning that Odin Allfather finally addressed the rumors, sitting on his golden throne above the gathered court. Thor grinned at Loki and nudged him with his elbow when the king announced that the royal family would be travelling to Alfheim to join in the festivities. “Can you imagine, Brother?” he whispered. “All of the feasting, and Alfheim is said to have some of the finest delicacies in the Nine Realms." 

Loki smiled thinly. “What of the princess? Aren’t you excited to meet her? I am certain that Odin will want you to wed her.”

Thor shrugged. “There are more than enough beautiful women on Asgard. Besides, any elf-woman I’ve ever met has looked a bit... frail.”

“Since when have you been picky?”

He only laughed, then walked away to join some of his other companions, leaving Loki to stand awkwardly alone near the throne. Queen Frigga smiled down at him from her place beside the king, and Loki tried to smile back, tense. Much as he resented living for centuries in Thor’s shadow, he had learned that it was more  _ peaceful  _ than when he garnered any sort of attention of his own. When Thor was nearby, no one bothered with Loki - and who would, when they could better spend their time vying for attention from the heir to the throne of Asgard?

There were visiting ladies from some of the outlying lands in attendance, and Loki pretended that he did not notice when one of them pointed to him and whispered something to her companions. He wondered if it would be the same on Alfheim. When was the last time that a Jötunn had been in Queen Fioled’s palace? Loki imagined that he’d be something of a sensation, and he told himself that he should revel in their horrified fascination, rather than dreading it. 

When the royal family sat down together in private to eat their midday meal, Loki ventured to ask the Allfather when they would be making the journey to Alfheim. Odin studied him for a moment or two, a stern look in his one good eye. “You will remain here in the palace, Loki,” he said. “It would be unwise to bring you to another realm now, while your father allows several of the Jötnar clans to openly oppose Asgardian order.”

“Father,” Thor exclaimed, “Loki has nothing to do with that—”

“Loki is here to keep the peace between our realms,” Odin interrupted, “and he understands the importance of his presence here in capital.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider, dear,” the queen said. “After all, Loki hasn’t left Asgard since he arrived here as an infant, and a good ruler should be familiar with the other realms. Wouldn’t it be in everyone’s best interests to introduce him to the other rulers of the Nine at Fioled’s festivities?”

“I appreciate your counsel, my queen, but my decision is final. If the Frost Giant rebels hear that their prince is abroad, outside of the safety of Asgard’s walls, they might choose to strike. Loki, you will remain here and see to your studies while we are on Alfheim.”

Loki felt his temper begin to swell, bitter and biting. “You believe that my own people will attack me if I attend some foreign party?” he asked, incredulous. “Is that  _ really  _ the best excuse that you can think of, Allfather?”

The words should’ve never left his lips; he knew it the moment he’d spoken, but it was too late to take them back, and so Loki sat sullenly and waited for the storm to descend. Odin slammed the goblet in his hand down on the table, and Frigga reached forward to presumably soothe him, but it seemed to have little effect. 

“I need no  _ excuse,  _ boy,” Odin snapped. “And if you are ever a king in your own right, you will do well to remember that enemies are always lurking. There are many on Jotunheim who would rather see you dead than see a man raised in Asgard as their king.”

“What is the  _ point _ of this, then?” Loki cried. “Why raise me here, if you do not believe that I will be accepted as Jotunheim’s true king? Why this charade of fostering me alongside your own son—”

“When Laufey is no more, you will ascend the throne of Jotunheim, and you will have the might of Asgard behind you to ensure that you remain in power.”

“To ensure that you remain in power, you mean.”

“Loki,” Frigga said, “please, there is no need to—”

Loki shoved himself away from the table and stood. “If you will excuse me, Your Majesties, I will be in my chambers.” 

He was surprised that he was allowed to leave; no one spoke to the King of Asgard in such a manner and simply strolled away with no repercussions, and he imagined that Queen Frigga was likely turning the full force of her disapproving frown onto Odin to keep him from calling the guards.  _ I am certain that the old man would enjoy that,  _ Loki thought,  _ being given any excuse to have me humiliated and escorted through the halls of his palace by force. _

But no one followed, and Loki was able to storm away to his rooms in relative peace, only garnering an odd look or two from passing servants in the halls. He informed the guard by his door that he had no wish to be disturbed, and once his door was locked safely behind him, he threw himself down on the couch by the fire and seethed. Loki tried to tell himself that he should not be so upset by the idea of being forbidden from travelling to Alfheim… but, if Odin was to be believed, then it sounded as if he would never be allowed to travel anywhere at all until his father died and he was shipped off back to Jotunheim to rule a realm he barely remembered.

_ A puppet-king. _ On impulse, he threw one of the glasses sitting on the side-table into the fire, relishing the satisfying pop as it shattered against the stone. He imagined that the servants would already be whispering that Loki Laufeyson lost his temper over a dance, like some sort of petulant maiden. They would say that he did not deserve the Allfather’s continual mercy, that he should be kept in a cell beneath the palace...

Loki knew this, because he had heard such whispers many times before.

He called a book to his hand with his magic, but it struck his palm with so much force that he dropped it, swearing. Summoning spells were not his strong suit, and he was far too distracted. The book wasn’t even the one he’d wanted, but he was too tired and frustrated to try again, and so he spent the next few hours reading about traditional herbal remedies on Vanaheim. When the door to his sitting room creaked open behind him, he did not bother looking up; there was only one person it could possibly be.

“I locked the door for a reason, Allmother.”

“Oh, Loki.” Frigga swept around the couch, kneeling beside him. “If you’d only given me time, I might have been able to convince the king to change his mind. Now, he is very cross, and I am afraid that there is no hope of you journeying with us to Alfheim.”

“There never was a chance,” Loki replied, setting his book aside. “I deserve no blame for Odin’s hatred of me; I do not even  _ remember _ Jotunheim. I am more Asgardian than Frost Giant in all but appearance, and yet I have been ostracized for my  _ entire life—” _

“He doesn’t hate you,” Frigga said. “He is… Odin is wise in many things, but he allows the past to cloud his judgment. You remind him of the son that he lost—”

“That is not my fault,” Loki cried. “I had nothing to do with it - I was an infant!”

“I know,” she said. She reached up to brush his hair back from his cheek, her eyes filled with regret. “I know. When you were younger, I’d hoped… well, I had hoped that he might come to see you as a blessing, as I do. There are so many centuries of bad blood between Asgard and Jotunheim...”

He turned away from her. “I do not wish to hear your excuses. Leave me, please.”

The queen hesitated, then stood. “If that is what you want, my son.” She turned back at the door. “Loki? Never forget that you have many gifts that even Odin Allfather does not possess. You  _ will _ have your moment in the sun, someday.”

Loki did not acknowledge her, and she left, the door locking again behind her.  _ Many gifts,  _ he thought. Yes, he did have many gifts, not that they’d ever done him any sort of good. He gave up his latest attempt to read, deciding that he might as well bathe and turn in for the night. It wasn’t until he was standing in front of the large mirror in his bedchamber that Loki began to have the first inkling of an idea. 

Loki Laufeyson could not leave Asgard, but what if he  _ wasn’t _ Loki Laufeyson?

The royal entourage left the palace to begin the journey to Alfheim the following evening; Loki had all but barricaded himself in his chambers, turning away the servants who came to fetch him and even Prince Thor himself. The queen must’ve convinced Odin to allow Loki his sulking, for no guards showed up to drag him to dinner. Loki, however, wasn’t wasting his time sulking - Loki was  _ planning. _ He hand-copied a map from his journal, a map that showed a hidden network of magical paths between the realms. He’d come across it long ago in a dusty old book in the palace library, but he’d never imagined that he’d have the opportunity to discover whether or not such portals actually existed.

_ There is no time like the present, _ he told himself.  _ And if all goes well, I will be there and back again before anyone even notices that I’ve gone. _

Studying himself in the mirror, Loki traced his fingers along the markings on his cheeks, frowning in concentration. It had been a long time since he had bothered to practice such complicated magic, and some defiantly prideful part of him was hesitant to completely abandon his true appearance. As the spell spread across his face, the markings faded away along with the blue, pale, smooth skin taking its place. He blinked, and light green eyes stared back at him from his reflection. 

His long, wild mane of hair would give him away, he decided, especially with the braids he wore twined in it. Loki liked to imagine that they were some tribute to his savage nature, his  _ otherness. _ He pulled his dagger from his belt, his mind made up; it would grow back, after all. 

With his hair shorn to just below his ears, Loki eyed his overall appearance with satisfaction.  _ That will do,  _ he thought, shedding his fine princely garments. He did not want to look like a pauper when he arrived in Alfheim, but neither did he want to look too richly-dressed. A poor commoner would have a difficult time gaining entry to the palace, while a wealthy prince would draw far too much attention. He chose a tunic and trousers that were well-made, but old and a bit worn, and he gathered some necessities in a knapsack; many of the guests of Queen Fioled would likely be given accommodations in her palace, but Loki imagined that he would be forced to find lodgings elsewhere, perhaps even sleeping out-of-doors.

The thought of sleeping under the stars of some elven forest excited Loki, even as it filled him with some small degree of apprehension. He told himself that there was no reason to fear; he was a fearsome creature himself, wasn’t he? And he had been trained since childhood to be one of the best fighters in the Nine Realms - what woodland beast from a realm such as Alfheim could possibly hope to harm him?  _ Adventure. _ He’d always wanted to have an adventure.

Loki shouldered his knapsack and tucked his sheathed dagger into his belt, dragging open one of the massive glass windows in his bedchamber. Even in the starlight, the golden spires of the palace gleamed, and he felt a slight rush of panic once again at the thought of running away from the only home he’d ever known. He pushed his apprehension aside and perched on the windowsill, steeling himself for what might end up being a very unpleasant fall.  _ It isn’t that far, _ he told himself,  _ and with a spell to cushion you… _

He jumped.

One of the bushes in the courtyard several stories beneath his bedchamber window did not fare well in the impact, and Loki quickly tried to reshape it so that it would not be obvious that it had been crushed from above by a decidedly prince-sized falling object. He was a bit more scratched up and bruised than he’d hoped for, but he was certain that he would heal quickly, and so he dusted the dirt and leaves off of his clothes and hurried off into the shadowed alleyways that led away from the palace proper. 

Hours later, his confidence and his mood greatly improved by his successful escape from the city, Loki finally reached the small creek that - according to his studies - would allow him passage to either Alfheim or Muspelheim. “Norns help me,” he muttered, tracing the appropriate runes on one of the river-stones with his finger, “I do not wish to end up in Muspelheim.” Something told him that a realm of fire-demons would not be particularly welcoming to a Frost Giant, even one disguised as an Asgardian.

A glowing orb appeared beneath the water, intensifying until all of the nearby trees took on an eerie blue light. Loki looked around, wary, but the forest was every bit as quiet as it had been when he’d arrived. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and then he dove into the water. It was unbearably cold, even by his standards, and then suddenly it  _ wasn’t,  _ and Loki felt as if he’d just passed through a barrier of molten metal. Choking, he frantically swam towards what he hoped was the surface of the water, bursting into the air with far less grace than he might’ve intended. 

He shivered, his muscles aching and sore, treading water as he attempted to catch his breath. Impossibly tall, broad trees surrounded the small pool he now found himself in, and the moon that hung overhead was nearly blotted out by wispy clouds.  _ Alfheim,  _ he thought, elated. He’d done it. He’d crossed realms without the use of the Bifrost Bridge, and he’d done it with only his own magic. Laughing, he swam to the edge of the pool and hauled himself out of the water, too proud and dizzy from the rush of power to even be bothered by the fact that he was now coated in mud. 

He’d done it.

Loki checked his reflection in the pool to ensure that his form had not reverted, but the face that looked back at him was entirely Æsir, his skin smooth and pale, no trace of crimson in his eyes. Grinning, he tucked his hair behind his ears; he knew that he would need to be careful, but he doubted that even many of the Asgardian nobles who’d known him since childhood would be able to recognize him this way.

Morning would come soon, and though he was exhausted, Loki was determined to find his way to Fioled’s palace before the sun rose. Even with all of the guests swarming to Alfheim from realms far and wide, a bedraggled Æsir staggering from the forest in broad daylight was certain to raise some questions. He dried his hands and pulled out his map, slightly damp but still legible, and squinted up at the stars, trying to reconcile what he’d read of them with their real-world counterparts. 

Exploring the brush around the isolated little pool eventually led him to a small, weathered footpath not far away, and he decided to trust that it would lead to civilization - it  _ seemed _ to go in the general direction that he believed he should be travelling. The forest thickened as he went, and he found it a bit more difficult to see in the dark than usual, but he pressed onward; how could he possibly slow down now, when he’d already come so far?

_ No longer Loki of Asgard, _ he told himself,  _ nor Loki of Jotunheim. No, you are Loki of Wherever-You-Wish-To-Be, now.  _ Of course, he would have to return to the palace before Odin and the rest of the Asgardians left Alfheim, and he doubted that he would have such a ripe opportunity to go adventuring for many years, lest he endanger the treaty between Jotunheim and Asgard… but for the moment, it was enough simply to know that he  _ could. _

His clothing dried as he walked along, and he managed to brush away most of the dirt and dust, but finding a way to take a proper bath was one of his top priorities. Once he located the city and determined the best way to sneak into the palace, he decided, he would see to finding some sort of lodging, or perhaps he would even venture back out into the forest to find a secure camping-ground…

Loki was surprised and perplexed when the path ended abruptly, the trees melding together to form an impenetrable wall that extended to the canopy of leaves above. He rapped his knuckles against the bark, wondering if it was some sort of illusory spell, but the wood was solid.

“Who goes there?”

He started and looked up; a shutter had been opened in the bark halfway up the thickest of the trees that crossed the path, and an irritated elf peered down at him as the sunrise began to trickle through the thick leaves of the canopy. “My masters had retired for the night,” Loki said quickly, raising his hands in supplication, “and I thought it’d be a good chance to see what Alfheim has to offer, but the forest—”

“Asgardian, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” The elf made an irritated grunt, and Loki smiled disarmingly. “Please, good sir, if you wouldn’t mind letting me through… I’ll be in all sorts of trouble if I’m not about my duties by the time my lord awakes.”

He could hear the elf mutter something as the shutter slammed closed, and a door opened directly in front of him only a moment later; Loki marvelled at the craftsmanship, for it had been completely undetectable while closed. The elf-guard gestured with his spear. “Hurry up with it, then,” he said, “though I doubt you’ll make it all the way to Dinas Annwyn before your masters wake.”

Loki dropped into an exaggerated bow, offering his profuse thanks. “If I can ever repay you,” he began.

“Staying inside the city will be repayment enough,” the guard interrupted. “We’ve better things to do than rescue foreigners who wander off into the forests.”

_ I would not say that you ‘rescued’ me,  _ Loki thought, but he bowed again and hurried off down the path, eager to avoid a confrontation.  _ That went well,  _ he told himself.  _ Luck must be on my side, for once.  _

The path through the trees broadened and began to branch off before long, but Loki kept to the main road, certain that it must lead to the city where Fioled kept her court. The sun had risen fully by the time he spied the walls of the city rising in the distance, a fascinating construction of thick vines twined with ancient, ivy-covered stones. He might’ve taken more time to stop and admire the view, had it not been for his increasing fear that someone - someone a bit better at their job than the guard at the outer wall - might stop him for questioning. 

Admiring the architecture could wait - Loki had a princess to meet.

Running his fingers down his face one last time, just to reassure himself that his Frost Giant markings had not returned to ruin his disguise, Loki set off down the final stretch of road that stood between him and his fate.


	2. Meeting

Loki had decided that Alfheim had rather terrible security, all things considered. He’d barely been acknowledged at all at the city gate, only quickly glanced over by the soldiers standing guard as he fell into the crowds that seemed to appear out of nowhere the moment he was inside the walls. If Odin Allfather had ever had guards so careless, they would’ve been flogged. Still, Loki couldn’t help but be thankful for the fact that the elves seemed to view outsiders with more annoyance than suspicion, even if he thought that it was incredibly foolish of them. What if he’d been an assassin? He  _ was _ a Jötunn in disguise, after all - and a sorcerer, at that. 

He’d always been wary of thinking of himself as a sorcerer, much as he loved his magic. Sorcerers were reviled in Asgard, and from what he had read, the same was true even on Jotunheim. The king had explicitly forbidden him from using spells when he sparred, declaring such methods ‘too dishonorable for a prince.’ Even Thor, who was usually so entertained by Loki’s tricks, had lost his temper when Loki dared to use a stinging spell to distract him during their training. 

It had never seemed particularly fair, in Loki’s opinion: if the others were encouraged to use their talents to their advantage, then why wasn’t he? He was obedient, and he’d stopped fighting with magic, but he couldn’t help but wonder at how effective he would be using his magic in battle. 

Someone bumped into him, jostling him from his reverie. “Watch yourself, Asgardian,” the elf called over his shoulder, and Loki was filled with pride at the fact that he’d made himself so convincingly Æsir - though the part of him that craved mischief couldn’t help but wonder how the crowds would react if they suddenly spied a Frost Giant in their midst. 

The city was incredible; where Asgard was all metal and stone and grand, golden spires, Dinas Annwyn seemed as if it had been born out of the land itself - or perhaps it had been there for so long that nature had begun to reclaim it. The trees that sprung up from the sides of the outlying roads supported platforms and small huts, with rope bridges cross-crossing between them haphazardly. The buildings on the ground were larger, constructed from wood and stone, their walls rounded like the tree trunks that surrounded them. 

While the trees became more sparse as he ventured deeper into the city, and the buildings became more grand, but they all retained their rounded shape. He noticed that many of the grander homes had leaf-shaped clay tiles on their roofs, which seemed a bit excessive, but he couldn’t deny that it was charming. 

Loki was famished, and he followed his nose to a little busy tavern which was open to the street. He chose a seat that allowed him a good view of everyone passing by, then waved down a barmaid. “Give me the best you have to offer,” he said, “as I will only be in your lovely city for a short time.”

“Of course, my lord,” the girl replied, tucking a loose lock of hair behind one of her pointed ears. She seemed a bit flustered, and Loki wondered if he’d said something strange. Perhaps she wasn’t used to customers asking her to choose a meal for them?

She brought out a plate full of little pies and pastries, placing a little vase with a single flower in it on his table. He thanked her, and she ducked her head in an awkward approximation of a bow. “Pardon me, my lord,” she said, “but, if I may ask… you are here to see the princess?”

“I am here for the festivities,” he said, “though I suppose seeing the princess is a part of that, isn’t it?” He smiled at her. “Will you be going to the palace for the feasts and dancing, as well?”

“I hope that I might, but the work is never done, you know, particularly with so many visitors to the city.” Her eyes widened. “Apologies, I did not mean—”

“No apologies needed,” Loki interrupted. “I would be vexed if I had to tend to the hordes swarming to the city for a chance at dancing with Fioled the Fair’s daughter, too. It all seems rather silly, doesn’t it?”

“Do you really think so?” the girl asked, surprised. “Are you not here in Dinas Annwyn to dance with Princess Gwenonwy, yourself?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

She laughed, then noticed another patron flagging her down and hurried away. Loki broke one of the little pastries in half, examining its center. He couldn’t tell what sort of fruit was inside of it, but it smelled wonderful, and he began to tuck away happily. The tavern girl had been so friendly; he wondered if this was how Thor felt every single day, with common folk eager to speak with him, eager to laugh at his jokes. 

_ Gwenonwy.  _ It was a pretty name, Loki thought. He imagined how she might look, and decided that she’d likely be every bit as severe as the elves he’d seen in the Allfather’s court. After all, why wouldn’t the princess be haughty? She had all of the Nine Realms at her feet for the next month. 

Loki left a few extra coins on his table when he set off again, hoping that the tavern-girl would remember him fondly.  _ See, Odin?  _ he thought.  _ I am not some sort of militant monster. I can be perfectly civil with common folk.  _ Only a few moments later, he spotted a few Asgardian Einherjar strolling through the streets in their golden armor, and his mood instantly fell. Slinking into the shadows of an alleyway, he waited until they’d passed him by, then followed them at a distance, certain that they’d lead him to the palace. 

There were other Asgardians in the city markets, admiring the fine elven craftsmanship and drinking too much elven wine, and Loki saw quite a few shoppers who appeared to be Vanir, as well. Much to his delight and relief, no one seemed to pay him any mind, and he was able to follow the crowd into the courtyard of the palace itself. A bit overwhelmed, Loki stopped in the middle of the courtyard. There were flowers  _ everywhere; _ he’d never seen anything like it before in his life. The paving-stones were studded with little flecks of some silvery quartz, and a massive willow tree stood in the very center of the courtyard, even more floral wreaths woven through its branches. 

_ Norns,  _ Loki thought,  _ it’s beautiful.  _

He realized that he likely looked foolish, standing and staring and the flowers, and so he hurried along after the bulk of the crowd, all of whom seemed to have a particular destination in mind. Loki assumed that they were headed for some public space, since no one had bother to stop him to ask for his name, and he soon found himself in a great hall lined with stone hearths and brightly-painted walls - adorned, unsurprisingly, with even more floral wreaths. 

The great hall was warm and somehow cozy, despite its great size. Many of the guests filling the hall were well-dressed, and Loki belatedly realized that he’d yet to change into less-muddy clothes. Hopefully, he’d just be mistaken for some servingman who’d stumbled into the great hall while looking for his lord; nobles did tend to completely overlook the servants, after all. 

_ A bathing chamber,  _ he thought.  _ What I need at the moment is a discreet, easily-accessible bathing chamber.  _ He stood by one of the stone hearths and watched the servants come and go for a time, trying to pick out patterns in their movements. If he could find the servants’ quarters, he assumed that there would be a shared bathing area, as there was in the palace of Asgard. If that wasn’t the case, Loki decided that he might just have to resort to washing himself in one of the courtyard fountains. 

Many of the servants seemed to come and go from a smaller doorway near the back of the hall, and Loki slipped through it when it seemed that no one was paying any attention. The floors were a shiny polished wood, and he admired his reflection in them, wondering how many hours were spent every day keeping them polished to such perfection. 

Eventually, he noticed a younger elf with very plain clothes and damp hair emerging from a chamber down the hall, and he slowed his steps, giving some time for the hallway to clear so that he could peek in the chamber unnoticed.  _ Victory.  _ There was a row of copper tubs, spouts jutting out of the woven wooden panel-walls that separated them. Loki jammed the door shut with a spell - he had no desire to share the baths with any Alfen servants. 

He stripped off his dusty clothes and tossed them into one of the tubs to soak, then climbed into another one of the tubs, wincing slightly at the iciness of the water. His legs turned blue, and he panicked, worried that his spell was about to be ruined by something as simple as a cold bath. Slamming his hands into the water, he used a simple heating spell to bring it up to temperature - splashing water all over the floor and slightly burning his palms in the process. 

_ So much for calling yourself a sorcerer, Loki.  _

Sinking down into the now-steaming water, Loki scrubbed his hair, slightly startled at how light it was now that he’d cut it. He found a bar of soap and wrinkled his nose at the thought of sharing with a servant, but then he reminded himself that he couldn’t afford to be picky, considering the circumstances. The soap smelled herbal and made his skin tingle, but he remained pale and smooth, so he decided that it was harmless enough. There was more dirt on him than he’d expected, he was embarrassed to realize; he supposed he’d been too caught up in the excitement to notice. 

Once he’d scrubbed himself clean, Loki hopped out of the tub and quickly changed into dry clothes. He wasn’t sure where he would manage to dry the ones he’d washed, and after a moment’s hesitation, he stung them out and stuffed them into his knapsack, still damp.  _ I need to learn a drying spell, if one exists,  _ he thought,  _ and if one does not exist, I should create one of my own.  _

He listened at the door until he was certain that the hall was clear enough for him to go unnoticed, then slipped out and made his merry way back towards the courtyard where he’d originally entered the palace. There were enough people there, noble and commoner alike, that he was certain no one would pay him any mind. Settling onto a small wooden bench by a pleasantly-bubbling fountain in the shade, Loki combed his fingers through his hair, pleased to find that it was already drying. 

It was a chilly day, and many of the visitors he observed coming and going through the courtyard were wearing heavier layers, so he pulled a leather jacket out of his bag and shrugged it on. It wouldn’t do to look  _ too  _ comfortable in the cold, after all. He’d wait to explore more of the city, he decided; he wouldn’t want to miss the first ball of the month. 

Loki’s plan - while admittedly vague - was to enjoy his adventure, poke around Alfheim for a bit, and then head back to Asgard via the portal he’d come through, which would only be accessible during certain phases of the moon. He couldn’t risk spending the entire month on Alfheim, he knew; someone was bound to notice eventually that the Prince of Jotunheim was no longer lurking about in the halls of the palace. There were other ways to slip between the realms, from what he’d read… but he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to find them quickly enough, in a pinch.

The thought of attempting to race Odin Allfather back to Asgard through some sort of magical portal that he’d only read about in ancient, dusty scrolls left Loki with a great deal of anxiety.

_ Don’t fret, _ he told himself, kicking his feet up onto the bench and stretching out to relax.  _ This is your adventure.  _

He’d nearly begun to doze off in the cool, blossom-scented breeze when a chorus of horns sounded, startling him awake. Banners were unfurled on the balconies overlooking the courtyard, and the people streaming into the palace all looked very presentable and important, unlike Loki, who looked a bit like he’d robbed someone slightly well-off and snuck into the palace after spending a day mucking about in the forest - which wasn’t entirely too far from the truth. It was best to blend in, he decided, springing to his feet and weaving his way into the crowd, his heart pounding. 

Loki was starving. That was the primary thought on his mind as he neared the great hall of the palace, catching whiffs of all of the delicacies piled on trays whisking past him in the hands of busy servants. His plans to gorge himself at the refreshment tables were thwarted when the crowd packed in close to the dias that stood at the far end of the hall, music falling silent as the Royal Family of Alfheim made their grand appearance. The queen generously welcomed everyone into her realm and bid them to enjoy themselves, and then the music started again, as did the chattering.

Much to his surprise, Loki couldn’t look away.

Princess Gwenonwy of Alfheim was small for an elf-maiden, nearly a full head shorter than her mother. She had the same pale, silvery hair as Queen Fioled, and beautiful dark eyes. A crown of flowers was twined into her hair, and her gown was loose and flowing. Loki had never thought himself the sort of man to be struck with yearning at the first sight of a pretty maiden, but he could not deny that there was something about her that piqued his interest.

Perhaps it was the dimple that appeared in her right cheek when she smiled, or the way her eyes narrowed, adding a hint of mischievous charm to a face that otherwise seemed perfectly innocent and mild. He wondered if there was any actual mischief behind that smile, for the princess did not show any signs of being frustrated by the banality of the suitors swarming her. It was likely, he decided, that she was enjoying all of the attention; was it not true that ladies dreamed of being courted by flocks of eager, wealthy young noblemen? 

He slipped away towards the banquet tables, heaped high with refreshments. The closer he stood to the princess, the higher his chances of being noticed by the Asgardians, and he had no intention of allowing his fun to be ruined so soon.  _ And you did not come here to fawn over a princess, Loki, _ he told himself.  _ You came here for your adventure. _

It was fortunate indeed that the elves seemed to enjoy decorating so heavily for their feasts and dances, because they’d filled the hall with so many plants and flowers and swathes of brightly-colored fabric that it was relatively easy to find spots to tuck away out of sight of the general crowd. That is exactly what Loki chose to do, once he’d filled his plate, and it wasn’t a moment too soon, for he spotted Thor winding his way through the hall not a moment later.

He watched as Thor strode up to the dais, joined only a moment later by Frigga, who Queen Fioled seemed very pleased to see. Would Frigga be just as pleased to introduce him to the Queen of Alfheim, if Odin had allowed him to travel along with them? Would the princess hurry over to curtsy and smile at him, as she did with Thor?

_ Norns, _ he thought,  _ I must stop these melancholy thoughts.  _

Loki kept to the edges of the room, weaving his way in and out of the crowds that hung back from the dance floor. The sight of his foster-family was grating, and he was determined that he would not allow Odin Allfather to ruin this, the most exciting night of his life. He eventually found himself near a curtained balcony, and after ducking his head through to give it a quick reconnaissance, he determined that it was the perfect place for him to enjoy his dinner in peace.

Out of sight from many of the guests and soothed by the chill evening wind, Loki began to relax. He sincerely doubted that he would be bothered; it seemed as though most of the attendees preferred the indoors, where they could bask in the heat of the fire and the glamor of the nobility. 

The music inside the hall was loud and upbeat, and he smiled at the thought of his brother attempting to keep up with any of the lithe elf-maids - even more amusing was the thought of Odin, serious and solemn in his armor, despairing as Queen Fioled would insist that he join her for a dance. Loki was almost tempted to slip back into the hall, just for the chance of seeing such a sight.

He turned instead to the balcony railing, leaning over it to take in the view of the gardens below. They were pretty, though a bit less tame than the Allmother’s gardens in Asgard, and he decided that he would explore them later in the evening. They might even make a suitable place to sleep, if he could find nothing better.

Someone else joined him on the balcony, but he paid them no mind; the footsteps were too light to belong to any burly Asgardian warriors, and he knew that Queen Frigga wouldn’t be so rude as to leave a feast so early into the evening. He was incredibly surprised, then, when the interloper strolled right up beside him and leaned over the balcony.

Loki glanced up to find Princess Gwenonwy of Alfheim peering down at the gardens below, her brow furrowed. “What in the Nine has managed to capture your attention so thoroughly, sir?” she asked. “I only see a garden.”

“But it is a very lovely garden,” Loki quickly replied, deciding that it would be best to pretend that he had no idea who she was; perhaps if he imagined she was someone less important, it would help to still his racing heart.

She looked up at him, one brow elegantly arched. “Oh? I should hope so. My mother takes a great deal of pride in it.”

_Don’t say it,_ _Loki,_ he told himself, but the words had already left his lips. “Your mother is a gardener, then?”

The princess’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed, and Loki thought that he saw the tiniest hint of a smile. “You might say that,” she replied. 

Emboldened by the fact that she’d yet to call a guard to take him off to the dungeon, Loki smiled back. “Well, gardener’s-daughter, how are you enjoying the party? I hear that there is some sort of princess here, searching desperately for a husband.”

“Is that so?”

“So I have heard.” He stood up straight, a little unsettled by how he towered over her once he did. After all of this fuss, he would’ve expected someone a bit more imposing. “Though, being a gardener’s daughter, I suppose you would know very little about such things.”

She studied his face for a moment, her eyes still narrowed, then let out a decidedly undainty snort. “You are a very fine looking young man,” she said unexpectedly, “so I suppose you must also imagine yourself clever and charming.”

“I am,” Loki replied, “and you have a very fine form, as well.”

“You are too bold,” she exclaimed, covering her mouth in a pantomime of shock - but her eyes crinkled in mirth, and Loki grinned, delighted to find that she did not mind his teasing. 

“I am only returning the compliment, Your Highness. It would be rude for me to argue with the word of a princess, especially while I am a guest in her realm.”

“Ah, so you  _ do _ admit that you know my face. And what of you, sir? From which realm do you hail? And  _ are _ you a sir, or a lord, or a prince? I would not wish to address you improperly.”

“A prince,” he replied without thinking. “Or, I was; the kingdom where I was born was all but destroyed by the Allfather’s armies when I was a child. I reside in Asgard, for now, without a penny to my name, heir to a kingdom of ash and ruin.”

“And what do you have to offer me to win my favor, Prince of Ashes?” she teased, leaning back against the delicate wooden railing of the balcony. “I doubt that my mother will be impressed with the ruins of some kingdom long-gone.”

“I am afraid that my answer will disappoint you, princess; I confess that I have come all this way only to sample the food and wine of Alfheim, which were rumored to be exquisite.”

“Oh, I see. And is it every bit as exquisite as you’d imagined?”

Loki leaned over her, perhaps a bit too close to be perfectly proper. “More exquisite than I ever could’ve imagined,” he whispered, and the princess’s cheeks showed the faintest hint of a blush. 

“I am glad to hear it,” she replied. “Someday, perhaps I shall visit your kingdom, and you can show me its many delights. It is an Asgardian territory?”

“Yes,” he began, but one of her handmaidens hurried onto the balcony, and Loki quickly stepped back, realizing too late how close he’d gotten to the princess. 

“Your Highness,” the girl said, dropping into a shallow curtsy, “Queen Fioled asks that you return to the hall for the festivities, as there are many guests who are eager to speak with you.”

The princess sighed. “Please tell my mother that I have only stepped out for some air. I will be back soon enough.” When the maid had left them, she plucked a tiny sprig of flowers from her hair, pressing it into his palm. “If you do decide that you are interested in more than the food and wine, Sindri,” she said, “I would not mind teaching you to dance.”

Loki was left dumbfounded as she skipped away, staring at the tiny white flowers in his hand.  _ Sindri,  _ she called him.  _ Cinders.  _ An ironic name for a Frost Giant, but a fitting one for a prince whose kingdom and future had been destroyed by the fires of Asgardian conquest. He laughed at the strangeness of it all, then tucked the flowers into his vest, heading back into the hall in search of more delicacies to sample.

He hardly saw Princess Gwenonwy at all for the rest of the night, buried as she was in a crush of eager suitors and courtiers. Though he knew he had no business strolling about with the other royals, risking recognition… he couldn’t help but to feel the slightest hint of envy. If things had been different, then perhaps he could’ve been one of those suitors, a prince of Jotunheim, rightful heir to a long and powerful dynasty.  _ No,  _ he told himself,  _ for then she would see your true face, and she would turn away from you in fear.  _ It was better to imagine that he was Odin’s true son, he supposed, a member of the most powerful family in the Nine Realms. 

Or, perhaps it was best not to waste any time imagining at all, he decided, carefully shoving an entire berry tart into his mouth. Daydreaming had never provided him with anything aside from more disappointment. 

Loki lingered among the common folk in the hall as the evening grew late, keeping a sharp eye out for any Asgardian nobility who might happen to wander by on their way to their chambers. He hoped, foolish as it seemed, that the princess might step away again to someplace quiet, and that he might have another opportunity to speak with her. Once the Asgardian royal family had retired for the evening, he dared to stroll about a bit more freely, and his heart made a strange little leap when he eventually found her back on the balcony, hidden behind a column that shielded her from view of the hall. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “there you are, Ash-Prince. I’d hoped you might find me again.”

“Did you?” he replied, tucking away behind the column with her. “I hadn’t given you any thought at all.”

Giggling, she elbowed him in the side. “And why would you, when there are so many  _ exquisite _ foods to sample?” Her voice grew hushed. “I had thought that you might ask me to dance, you know. I am told that I am very lovely when I dance.”

“I am sure you are,” Loki said, “but I wouldn’t want to steal you away from one of your suitors. Your time is much more valuable than mine, princess.”

“Hmm.”

He noticed then that she had a very sweet, floral scent, and he was more than a little embarrassed by how much he enjoyed it.  _ You are being a fool, Loki,  _ he told himself, but his clever mind entirely failed him when the princess seized his hand. 

“I have a proposition for you, Sindri,” she whispered conspiratorially, “or whatever your name truly is. I assume, given what you’ve told me, that you have no room here in the palace?”

“No, princess,” he replied, staring at their joined hands, at her delicate little fingers, so small next to his. “Truthfully, I thought that I would not stay for the remainder of the festivities.”

“But you must! I will die of boredom, otherwise. This is my bargain: promise to stay and entertain me, and I will find you a room in the palace to stay for the rest of the festivities. You  _ will  _ stay, won’t you?”

“I—”

Someone called out her name from the hall, and the princess huffed in irritation. “Never a moment’s peace. Do stay, Sindri.”

She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze before she released him, and Loki did not take a moment to consider it before he blurted, “I will.”

Her smile was blinding. “Good,” she replied. “Meet me at the servants’ door by the kitchens tonight, and I will secret you away… though I cannot promise any grand chamber for you, I’m afraid.”

“No grand chamber needed, Your Highness. You can put me in the scullery, if it suits you.” 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous; you’re too long and lanky, and you would take up entirely too much space.” She gave him a cheeky wink and then hurried away, and Loki clenched his fist, already missing the feeling of her hand in his. 

He spent several hours exploring the lower levels of the palace and the gardens, poking about in the shadows, where he wasn’t likely to be overseen. Some part of him wondered if perhaps the princess was simply playing a cruel prank; if he went to the door to meet her, what if she’d sent a guard to throw him out of the palace? She knew now that he had no real reason to be there. What if there was no one there at all, and he was left lingering in the hallway, foolish and alone?

And when he did finally make his way down to the kitchens, his heart sank, because there was no one to be seen but a few servants and scullery maids. Loki lingered for a moment or two in the hall, increasingly uncomfortable, wondering if he’d have to make his bed that night in the forest. He had almost given up hope when one of the tapestries down the hall rustled, and a moment later, her silvery head poked out from behind it. 

She beckoned to him, and Loki was quick to duck behind the tapestry and into the small alcove that it hid. “If someone finds us, princess,” he teased, “it will be the scandal of the year.”

“The scandal of the century, I’d expect,” she replied, “but you have no need to fear, my prince; I am very light on my feet.” She pressed against one of the wooden panels near the back of the alcove, and a door opened, making only the faintest creaking. “There are old rooms in the bottom of the Maidens’ Tower that have not been used in decades, and I doubt that anyone will notice or care if you take up residence there.”

“The Maidens’ Tower?” he asked, his lip quirked. “Are you really going to leave a fox among the hens?”

“You are far too cheeky for any elven maid to be seduced by,” she retorted, taking his hand and pulling him through the door. “I imagine that all of us maidens are quite safe, even with the silver-tongued Prince of Ashes lurking underfoot.”

“What a grand compliment that is, Your Highness. Can you see where we are going, or do we run the risk of becoming lost in the darkness?”

“I can see perfectly well, Sindri,” she declared, only to trip a moment later on her skirts. Loki caught her in his arms, and she burst into soft, embarrassed laughter. “The fault belongs to my clothing, I assure you - not my eyesight.”

“Of course,” Loki agreed, wondering why she hadn’t yet broken free of his arms, “as Princess Gwenonwy of Alfheim is well-known for her perfect eyes.” He felt his cheeks begin to heat; why did he insist on saying such things, the words tumbling from his lips without a second thought? 

“Is that so? And what are you well-known for, hmm?”

_ For being the unwanted hostage of Odin Allfather,  _ he thought.  _ For being a Jötunn, the singular monstrous Frost Giant in the Realm of the Gods. For being Loki Laufeyson. _

“You do not think my eyes are worthy of renown, Your Highness?” he asked instead, pretending to be terribly offended. 

“They are pretty enough, I suppose. And I must insist that you do not call me ‘Your Highness’; it seems terribly formal, especially for late-night escapades.”

She finally stepped away from him, and he let her go - though he felt an unexpected reluctance as she left his arms. “What am I to call you then, princess?”

“Use my name,” she said. “Call me Gwenonwy, as I call you Sindri… unless you will relent and tell me your real name?”

“I believe that I am beginning to grow fond of the nickname, in all honesty,” Loki told her, even as some part of him yearned to hear his name on her lips. “It is more charming than my own name, you can be certain of that.”

“I do enjoy a good mystery.” 

The steps they were on began to sharply spiral downwards, and for a time, neither of them spoke, too focused on finding proper footing in the dark. As they descended, Loki couldn’t help but feel a sharp sort of satisfaction twist in his heart; how  _ certain _ Odin had been that the Alfen princess would immediately fall into Thor’s arms, and yet there she was, skulking in the shadows with someone as poorly-regarded as Loki. 

They finally came to a halt on a landing near the bottom of the stairs, and the princess pushed open a small wooden door, so short that Loki had to duck slightly to enter the chamber. “There you are, my prince,” she declared, her hands on her hips. “Your grand chambers for the month, promised payment for the pleasure of your company. Will it do?”

The small bed - more of a cot, really - looked to be shorter than his body, and the hearth in the corner clearly hadn’t been used in some time. Only a single lamp burned on the rickety side-table. Still, the sheets were clearly fresh, the bed haphazardly-made, presumably by someone who had very little practice making beds, and he felt his heart lurch once more. “It will,” he told her. “This will do very nicely.”

“I am glad. You will be able to find your way back to the great hall?”

He laughed. “I believe so, Gwenonwy. There are only two ways to go from here - up, or down.”

“You laugh now,” she replied, “but there is a deep freshwater spring that wells up at the bottom of the tower, and if you venture even farther, you might fall in. Can you swim, Sindri?” Her eyes twinkled, and Loki had the sneaking suspicion that she might find a way to push him into the water, before the month was gone. 

“Can you, little princess?” he challenged back. 

“Of course, and I am very, very good at it, so if you  _ do _ fall in, I might be persuaded to rescue you.”

Once more, Loki’s words failed him. He had never in his life had an Asgardian woman banter with him this way. He told himself that it was simply because he was hiding his true form, and his true name. She wouldn’t be so easy and free with him otherwise, would she?

“I suppose I should run along back to bed,” she continued, seeming to realize then that she was in a strange man’s chamber alone, in the middle of the night. “But I will see you tomorrow, won’t I?”

“I would not miss it for all the riches in the Nine,” he told her, and as she closed the door and left him alone in the belly of the tower, Loki was startled to realize that he truly meant it. 

~*~*~*~

The following day, Loki heaped up a large plate of food as soon as the feasting began, retreating with it to the quiet balcony where he assumed Princess Gwenonwy would eventually make an appearance. A few nobles drifted outside from time to time, but few seemed to even notice him, and all of them quickly went back inside to escape the cold winds. He idly wondered if the princess did not mind the cold, or if she was merely willing to endure it to escape the attention of court from time to time. 

Her eyebrows rose when she did find him some time later, and Loki guiltily lowered the cake that he had been on the verge of devouring. “I begin to believe that I have befriended a glutton,” she said. “How can such a lean man possess such a bottomless stomach?”

“One of my many talents, princess. Are your suitors managing to impress you this evening?”

“I’m afraid not.” She pushed his plate aside, sitting down beside him on the bench. “Either they love to talk - but only about themselves - or they are completely incapable of holding a conversation. There is one… do you know the Asgardian prince, Sindri? Thor Odinson? I expect you would, if you now reside in Asgard.”

Loki’s pulse quickened. Had she asked Thor about the strange Ash-Prince who spoke with an Asgardian accent, but refused to reveal his name? Was she going to tell him how handsome she found Thor, how he was her favorite of all of her impressive, wealthy suitors?

“I know of Prince Thor,” he said, “but we have never met; I tend to stay far from the court, considering the very… delicate history my family has with the Allfather.”

“I see. I could make an introduction, if you’d like? He seems very friendly—”

“No,” Loki hurriedly replied. “Thank you, princess, but I prefer to avoid notice. Allfather Odin is very strict, and you must remember that I did not receive his permission to visit your realm. If you truly care for my company—”

“I understand.” She selected a tart from his plate - one that he had been looking forward to eating himself - and popped it in her mouth. “My mother is also terribly strict, you know. But she is very happy with me for agreeing to marry without a fuss, and so she has not been quite as overbearing as usual.”

“Are you not happy, then?” Loki asked. “After all, you are being given the opportunity to choose your husband; that is more than most can say.”

“Oh, but if I make the wrong choice, dear Sindri, my mother the queen will be quick to correct me, I can promise you that. What of your prospects?”

“What of them?”

“Well,” she said, “you have assured me that you are not here in Alfheim to win me, and so I have to wonder if you have a true love waiting for you in the Realm Eternal. Is that the case?”

“True love?” he scoffed. “No, I am afraid that I have nothing to offer a true love, Gwenonwy.”

“If it is really a true love, then all you should need to offer is yourself. Not riches, not status—”

“Very romantic,” Loki interrupted, “but not very practical, is it?”

“No.” She smiled crookedly, fidgeting with her skirts. “But you have no great responsibilities, and so you can hope for such impractical things.”

He did not want to correct her; how could she possibly understand, without him revealing who he really was?  _ What  _ he really was? “Tell me your favorite suitor, so far,” he said to distract her. “I would love to hear your assessment of the best men the Nine Realms have to offer.”

Gwenonwy continued to play with the fabric of her gown, picking at a loose thread of embroidery. “It is too soon to tell. The Asgardians are tall and handsome, the Light Elves are familiar, the Dark Elves are exciting and mysterious…”

“And what of the Vanir?”

Her nose wrinkled. “The lords of Vanaheim are very good at finding flattering ways to insult me, I think.”

“Why do you think that?” Loki asked. 

“One told me that I am… how did he put it? More  _ lively  _ than he’d imagined. Another said that I was almost as beautiful as Fioled the Fair.”

“Well,” he replied, “you are very lively, aren’t you? And perhaps the other lord was simply worried that he would offend your mother if he praised you too highly.”

“Hmm, I suppose.” She looked up from her gown, then, her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you fear to praise me too highly, Sindri? You’ve yet to compose even a single couplet in my honor; it is a most grievous oversight.”

“Let me think for a moment, princess.” Loki tapped his chin, sternly contemplative as any great artist searching for his muse. The princess’s dimple gave away the smile that she was desperately attempting to mask, and it made it difficult for him to concentrate. “I have it,” he declared after a moment.

Gwenonwy clapped. “Do share, Master Wordsmith.”

“Like the sun, her smile, like the moon, her hair; Gwenonwy of Alfheim, the Almost-Fair.”

“You monster!” she cried, shoving him gently as she burst into laughter. “You have a wicked tongue, my prince. A crueler princess would have you tossed in the dungeon.”

“I would not waste my breath composing verses for any other princess,” Loki replied, cursing himself as soon as the words left his lips. “That is to say, no other princess is offering me room and board in exchange for entertainment. It would not be economical for me to go about entertaining ladies for nothing in return, would it?”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be.” 

Her laughter had died down, but the dimple in her cheek was still plainly evident as she smiled at him, and Loki felt an odd sense of dread at the realization that he’d likely never see her smile again, once the month was up and she was married. Would it be better or worse, he wondered, to see her every day in the palace of Asgard, but as Thor’s bride?

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she carefully selected the pastry with the most icing from the tray, forgoing the dainty bites she would’ve used in public and instead cramming half of the thing in her mouth.  _ Worse,  _ he decided.  _ It would be much worse.  _

“Sindri,” she said, dusting crumbs from her gown, “do you still find the offerings of Alfheim exquisite?”

“Yes,” Loki replied, “I certainly do.”


	3. Dance

He watched the princess dance with his foster-brother a few nights after that, emboldened enough to linger in the main hall by the fact that he’d yet to be recognized. In Loki’s humble opinion, they made a dreadful match; she would dance far better partnered with someone more lithe, more graceful. 

_More like me,_ he thought, but it was a thought he quickly banished. He had no business dancing with her, even though she seemed to enjoy his company. The entire purpose of this month-long party was to find a husband for her, and there was no good excuse for him to distract her from the task at hand. 

Still, every time she laughed at something Thor said to her, Loki felt it like a blow to his heart. Perhaps the princess simply found everyone amusing, and she _had_ mentioned that the Asgardians paying her suit were tall and handsome, hadn’t she? He sincerely doubted that she would pick some lesser Æsir lord over the Allfather’s own son and heir. 

He could, of course, dance with some of the other ladies in attendance. Gwenonwy was beyond his reach, but there were many other pretty women in the court, and Loki knew that, at least in this form, he was attractive. Many of the women in Asgard avoided him because of what he was, even if his physique was pleasing enough, but that would not pose a problem in Alfheim. 

The first woman he approached had been lingering in the corner of the hall for some time, and Loki assumed that she would be content to dance around the edges of the floor, rather than pushing her way to the center of the crowd. She looked to be elven, with dark hair and silver eyes, though she was much taller than the princess. Loki bowed, introducing himself as Sindri of Asgard, and asked her for a dance. 

The woman accepted and took his hand, though she appeared flustered about it; Loki assumed that she had taken note of his omission of titles or lands. After all, what woman came to such a grand ball hoping to dance with a penniless nobody? 

“And what is your name?” he asked, taken aback by how closely she held him as they spun around the dance floor. 

“Enid, my lord,” she replied. “Forgive me, I do not know if that is the proper title.”

“It will do,” he said. “Titles mean little to me, Lady Enid. How are you enjoying the festivities? I have never been to Alfheim before now; it is a fascinating place.”

“I am glad that you find our realm welcoming, my lord. As for these celebrations, it is all very exciting. I have known Princess Gwenonwy since we were very small, and I am happy that she has been given such a wonderful opportunity to find a worthy husband.”

He pondered on the idea of a _worthy_ husband for the remainder of their dance, and while Enid was very lovely and seemed intrigued by him, Loki could not muster up the enthusiasm to pursue her. They finished the dance, and he thanked her profusely, and then he went off to sulk on the balcony. 

It was foolish, he knew, to allow his evening to be spoiled by some sort of envy towards Thor, but it felt just as spoiled, all the same. The evening would be easily salvaged if Gwenonwy followed him out to the balcony for more of their usual teasing banter, though Loki doubted it would be possible; her guests were demanding more and more of her time, and he knew he had no right to vie for her attention. 

Her task was to find a man to marry, and Loki wasn’t a candidate. It was as simple as that. If he reminded himself of that often enough, perhaps he’d begin to believe it. 

~*~*~*~

Loki thought that he’d done well in selecting clothing for Alfheim, but when he returned to his room that evening, there was a stack of neatly-folded silken shirts on the foot of his bed, adorned with shining golden embroidery. His first reaction was to fear that he’d been discovered, but when he lifted one up to inspect it, a little scrap of paper fluttered to the ground. Upon retrieval, he discovered that it contained only four words, scrawled in such small, spindly handwriting that he had to squint to make them out. 

_“For my Ash-Prince.”_

His heart flipped. It could only be from the princess, then; he determined it best to ignore entirely that she’d called him _her_ Ash-Prince. She’d given him the nickname, after all, and she was likely only referring to him that way because the _nickname_ was hers. Or, perhaps she did feel possessive, given that she had essentially bought his company for the month. 

Loki lay down on his bed, pressing one of the shirts to his face. He’d surely die of embarrassment if anyone saw him, but it smelled like Gwenonwy, and he couldn’t help himself. His mind conjured up a vision of her lying beside him, and he surrendered to the wicked weakness of wondering what she would feel like in his arms. It was a torment, to be sure, but a torment of the sweetest kind. If no one but him ever knew, could it possibly cause any harm?

He knew that he should begin to plan his return to Asgard, but any thoughts of willfully placing himself back in his golden cage were tinged with bitterness. What if, Loki wondered, he never went back? Would Odin truly raze Jotunheim over his disappearance? And was he really expected to feel responsible for a realm that he only knew from childhood stories and the taunts of the Asgardian court? But then, where would he go? Gwenonwy wasn’t going to marry him, and he couldn’t very well spend the rest of his life hidden away in the bowels of the Maidens’ Tower, pining over a princess he barely knew.

And… what if Gwenonwy _did_ wed Thor?

Groaning, Loki flopped onto his belly, nearly rolling off of the narrow bed in the process. He needed to explore more of Alfheim, while he had the opportunity. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep mulling over the unsolvable problem that his fascination with Gwenonwy posed. It also wouldn’t do any good to wonder why she’d bothered sending him _gifts—_

“You are a fool,” he mumbled into his pillow. “A prince should be above these things.”

He dreamed of her when he fell asleep that night, pretending to run from her in a field of flowers, her laughter trailing behind him.

When he woke, he determined that the only acceptable course of action was to avoid all of the nonsense surrounding the ball. He put on the plainest of his clothes and snuck out of the palace before dawn, hesitating only for a moment as he passed through the gate. Gwenonwy likely wouldn’t even notice his absence, he reasoned. She had plenty of other guests to keep her entertained, didn’t she? Loki was hardly a crucial asset.

He found a very quaint little bakery on the outskirts of Dinas Annwyn, far enough from the palace that he felt he could relax his guard. The building itself was squat and rounded, its wood planking carved to resemble bark. Loki discovered that they had some very tiny, cinnamon-sugar biscuits that were still warm, and he purchased what was surely an unreasonable amount, rather cheerful at the thought of having a stash of them hidden away for a midnight snack. The baker, for his part, seemed delighted to have found such an admirer of his work, and bade Loki to be sure to stop by again during his time in Alfheim.

It reminded Loki that his appearance was Asgardian, now, and he began to walk the streets with a newfound sense of confidence, even going so far as to smile and nod at a group of ladies passing him by. He was surprised by the giggles and smiles he received in return, and he hoped that they couldn’t see his cheeks flush. Attention that did not revolve around his position as Asgard’s resident Frost Giant was rare, and usually not particularly positive.

Loki’s rooms in the palace were rarely visited by anyone who might pay close attention to his possessions, and so he decided that he might as well purchase mementos to take back to him, when he made his return - a return that he was still dutifully trying to ignore. From the book-binder he bought several books with blank pages of beautiful, crisp white paper, and from a jeweler he purchased a golden ring formed in the likeness of the World Serpent.

He’d always liked serpents.

For most of the day, Loki contented himself with wandering about Dinas Annwyn, simply observing all of the elves that congregated in the city’s streets and marketplaces. They were not all the noble, haughty beings that seemed to populate the court, but they did seem to share a certain _otherness_ that he found difficult to describe, something a bit ethereal. If he’d hoped that he would see some pretty elf-maid who would capture his interest and distract him from Gwenonwy, however, he was to be sorely disappointed; in his eyes, none could compare.

_Why must she have such a charming smile?_ he silently lamented. _That dimple…_

When he decided to return to the palace in the evening, the streets surrounding it were so crowded with revelers that he practically had to shove the festive peasantry aside to find his way back to the main courtyard. Servants strolled about handing out delicacies from the palace kitchens - a gift from the queen to her adoring public, he assumed, to give them the illusion of being a part of all of the grandness without actually having to allow them all inside the palace. 

He had to admit, the minstrels outside of the palace were much more entertaining than the musicians in the grand hall. It might be better to be a peasant on Alfheim than a prince on Asgard, all things considered. 

If he’d wanted, he would’ve had time to make it to the party before it had completely wound down for the evening, but Loki decided that his time would be much better spent alone in his little room. He told himself that this was to avoid the eventuality of lingering on a balcony or in the garden like some horrid ghost, hoping to catch a glimpse of the princess. In truth, however, it did not take very long at all before he began to sketch her in one of his pristine new note-books. Perfecting her features kept him occupied for a little while, and once he was completely satisfied, he turned the page and began to work on a drawing of the bakery where he’d found the magical biscuits. 

Loki woke with a start, confused; he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and he certainly hadn’t meant to fall asleep with his face directly on top of one of his still-damp illustrations. Dismayed, he rubbed the ink from his cheek; he’d have to begin the courtyard scene all over again—

Muffled footsteps outside of his door quickly brushed away any concerns he had over his drawings, and he scrambled across his chamber, pressing his ear to the door. He could faintly make out several girlish voices, and he released a shaky breath. _No Asgardian soldiers come to retrieve me, then,_ he thought. _Look at yourself, cowering from young serving-girls._

He wrapped a change of clothes, including one of his fine new tunics, in his jacket, then hurried down to the servants’ hall to sneak in a quick bath. It was still strange to feel how short his hair was, now, but he’d begun to grow fond of it; it was much easier to maintain, at least. The shirt he’d chosen was a dark blue, shining flowers embroidered around the neck of it. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen the men of Asgard wearing, but if he was being completely truthful with himself, Loki genuinely found it pleasing. It helped, he was sure, that it had been a gift from the princess. 

Guests were only beginning to trickle into the main halls of the palace when Loki decided to head to the party. He wondered if they were exhausted, if they were dancing themselves to death for a chance at a crown. It was amusing to imagine Thor running himself ragged trying to be charming and couth every evening, falling over himself to avoid stepping on ladies’ toes.

A hand grabbed hold of his sleeve as he slunk around the edge of the great hall, and Loki’s heart nearly stopped before he realized that the hand belonged to Gwenonwy. “Where were you last night?” she whispered, tugging him over beside a large floral display, hidden from the royal dais. “I thought—”

“I was only exploring Dinas Annwyn, princess,” he hurriedly replied. “I did not imagine that you would notice, truth be told. Besides, my time here is limited—”

She scowled. “You might’ve left a note, you know… not that I was worried, of course.”

“No, of course not.” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I… thank you, for the wardrobe. I suppose you couldn’t have your Ash Prince looking _too_ much like a pauper, could you?”

Her scowl wavered. “Obviously. If I am to be the subject of any scandals for sneaking around with a strange Asgardian in the gardens, then my supposed paramour might as well be well-dressed. You do like them?”

“I do. I cannot imagine how you managed to find clothing to fit me so quickly, but they are very lovely, Gwenonwy.”

The princess brightened. “I _was_ worried,” she admitted. “I know that you have said that you are not supposed to be visiting Alfheim, and I truly feared that you had been sent back to wherever it is you’ve come from. And _then_ what would I do, Sindri? I would never last the month.”

Loki returned her smile, but he realized then that they were beginning to draw attention, and he could see the frustration in Gwenonwy’s eyes when she realized it, as well. “I am off to serve my realm,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you will wait for me on the balcony, won’t you? I will dance as quickly as I am able, and hopefully the less-agile of the lot will soon fear to take to the floor with me.”

“Of course,” Loki said, bowing. “I will await your summons, my lady.”

He could see her stifling a laugh as she turned and rushed off to find the queen, and her excitement was infectious; besides, she had been waiting to see him. She had worried over him. Loki wondered - though he did not dare to hope - if she had spent a restless night pining over him, as he had done for her. _Ridiculous,_ he told himself, twisting the ring on his finger as he strode towards the balcony, intending to settle in with a plate and enjoy the cool breeze, as always. 

Instead, he found himself waylaid by Enid, who shyly asked him for a dance. Several other young ladies stood not far behind her, giggling, and Loki was happy to accept - though he was quite perplexed. Afterwards, he found himself dancing with several of her giggling companions, all of whom professed that he was a very graceful dancer, and that Alfen clothing suited him _quite_ well. He imagined that must be the reason for their curiosity; by dressing differently than the other Asgardian men in attendance, he’d drawn attention to himself. The timing worked out quite nicely, despite his growing apprehension, and by the time the more important guests were beginning to make their fashionably-late arrivals, Loki had taken enough turns dancing to reasonably excuse himself to catch his breath.

The balcony was, as usual, empty, save for the occasional dancer ducking outside for a moment or two to cool off, and Loki leaned on the railing and enjoyed a very delicious glass of wine, admiring the stars. Time seemed to pass quickly; maybe it was because of the lightness of his heart, or the particularly quick-tempos of the songs the musicians played. Before long, Gwenonwy appeared at his elbow, her cheeks flushed and her flower crown slightly askew.

“Walk in the gardens with me, Sindri?” she asked. “I have offended one of the Dark Elf lords, I fear, and I would like to avoid my mother for as long as possible.”

“Offended?” Loki laughed as she took his arm and hurried him off towards the staircase that led down from the balcony. “How would you ever manage to offend anyone, princess?”

“I might’ve expressed my interest in meeting his son, who I wrongly assumed was the suitor from his house... apparently the old man _is_ the suitor. How was I to know?” She was indignant, and Loki tried to school his features as she came to an abrupt halt in a patch of moonlight near the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think that I should apologize?”

“No,” he replied. “In fact, I think that you should be more direct; if he approaches you again, tell him that you have no interest in dull old men.”

“Sindri!” she gasped. “Norns, you are such a ridiculous creature. Can you imagine the trouble that I would be in with the court?”

“You like trouble, though.” Loki gestured around the empty, shadowed corner of the gardens where they’d hidden. “Sneaking away with some pauper-prince in the middle of your own ball, _unchaperoned.”_

“I will have you know that I am perfectly well-behaved, _sir,”_ Gwenonwy retorted. “You are the troublesome one.” She settled down on a bench made from thick woven vines, gathering her skirts about her knees and kicking off her silver slippers.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Gwenonwy beckoned him over to take the seat beside her. “No,” she said. “I enjoy the crispness of the winter air. It is refreshing, don’t you think? It does not seem to bother you, either.”

He nearly laughed. “No, I enjoy it, as well. Tell me your pick of the suitors, princess. Who is currently winning the battle for your heart?”

“Hmm. You know, I do not feel any true urge to have my heart won by any of my suitors. How am I supposed to choose between all of these men? It is too much pressure, my friend. It is even worse knowing that these are apparently _all_ of my prospects. I’d hoped that I might see some charming young prince and fall in love at first sight.” Her smile was a bit forlorn. “Wasn’t that foolish of me?”

Loki was at a loss for words. It _was_ foolish, he thought, but he could not blame her; he had been cynical for most of his life, but the princess seemed to have a stubborn streak of optimism that he truly admired. “And if none of them win your heart?”

“Then,” she said, “I suppose it will all come down to whoever manages to win my mother’s heart, won’t it? That is likely why Odin Allfather has been so generous with his gifts and praise, to ensure that an Asgardian will be chosen.”

His pulse sped. “So it will be Thor, then?”

Gwenonwy kicked aimlessly at one of the loose stones by her feet. “Perhaps. He seems noble enough. Dull, but noble. Certainly handsomer than the princes of Vanaheim, and I am sure that Queen Fioled would be ecstatic if her daughter was the future Allmother.”

“Dull?” Loki asked. “I cannot say that I have ever heard anyone dare to call the prince _dull.”_

“Well, he might have a very witty side to him,” Gwenonwy replied diplomatically, “but I have yet to see it. He does not seem interested in me, in any case. In some ways, I enjoy the fact that he does not feign enthusiasm. The others… they are so _ingenuine,_ Sindri.” Gazing up at him, she took his hand. “But you are always genuine, aren’t you?”

“I—”

“Except for your name, of course. I will find that out, sooner or later. It would be much easier if Odin Allfather had not conquered quite so many kingdoms over the millennia, I must admit.”

In that moment, his hand in hers, Loki could think of nothing worse than the little elf-princess discovering who he truly was. He imagined the look of disappointment, of disgust, the way that she would recoil in horror. “What if I am some peasant, masquerading as a man with a royal bloodline?”

“That would make my search more difficult,” she admitted. A comfortable silence fell for a few moments, and Loki marveled over the tremendous sense of satisfaction he felt at having her so close. 

“I do have to ask, Sindri… if I do end up marrying some Asgardian prince or lord, will you visit me? I have never been to any realm but Alfheim, and I expect I will be very, very lonely.”

“I would not want to make a promise that I could not keep,” Loki told her. He tried to imagine it - seeing her every day in the palace, unable to sit with her like this, to _speak_ with her… “But,” he hurried to add, forcing some cheerfulness into his voice, “I doubt that you will feel lonely for long, Gwenonwy, no matter where you go. You seem to make friends easily, if I am any indication.”

“Oh, you are different.”

“How so?”

“You are easy to talk to, Prince of Ashes, and very _intriguing._ Intriguing characters can be difficult to find.”

“You flatter me, princess,” Loki said. 

“Well, we cannot have that, can we? For all I know, you have no other talents to speak of, so you should not become cocky.” She waited for a moment for him to argue, but Loki faltered. “You _do_ have other talents, don’t you?” she prompted. “Impress me.”

“I am an accomplished fighter, well-trained in various forms of combat,” he began, but Gwenonwy held up a hand to stop him. 

“I do not doubt it,” she replied, “given your physique, but aren’t all Asgardians proud of their skills in battle? No, Sindri, you will have to do better than that.”

“I have magic.” He said it on an impulse, a reckless, _stupid_ impulse, one that he immediately regretted; when had sharing his magic ever gained him any sort of respect? The princess wouldn’t be impressed by some sort of _trickery—_

“Norns,” she whispered, clasping his hands, “is that true? Will you show me? Will it be too much trouble?”

Loki stared at her, puzzled, but he saw no trace of sarcasm or mockery in her eyes, only genuine curiosity. “I… I suppose. What is your favorite color, princess?”

“Green.” Her dimple appeared as she smiled up at him. “I believe I am the most fond of green.”

“Very well.” Loki extricated his hands from hers, cupping them together in front of her. “Watch, he said, and Gwenonwy gasped in delight as a bright green flame sprang to life in his palm. “Do you like it?”

“How do you _do_ that?” Fascinated, she reached out to stick her fingers into the flame, and Loki snatched his hands away. 

“Careful, careful. It might look pretty, but it will burn.”

“Oh.”

The light reflected in her dark eyes, and Loki found himself absolutely mesmerized. The flame in his hand sparked and twisted into the shape of a rose, and he smiled back at her, hesitantly, wondering how long he’d manage to hold her attention. 

“Sindri, this is a most _marvelous_ talent,” Gwenonwy said earnestly. “I am sure that you have had to practice for ages upon ages, haven’t you? Many are not so dedicated.”

“I would like to become the greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms,” he told her. Loki had never admitted as much to anyone before, and he was certain that it would earn him nothing but scorn and distrust in Asgard, but… Gwenonwy seemed so awed by such a simple display of magic. He could not resist the urge to see more of that same sort of wonder in her eyes. 

“You will be, then. I am certain of it.” 

Loki extinguished the flame, wondering why his heart was beating so very rapidly. “We shouldn’t linger here, should we? They’ll be searching for you.”

“Let them.”

“I would rather keep my head on my shoulders,” Loki said, “if it’s all the same to you. I have a feeling that things would go rather poorly for me if I was found seducing the princess in a secluded garden.”

Gwenonwy giggled. “Is that what you are doing, seducing me? Not to worry, my Ash-Prince; I am prepared to defend your honor if anyone accuses you of impropriety.”

“Thank the Norns for that,” Loki replied, suppressing a smile. “If you are willing to vouch for my honor, then—”

“My lady?” a woman’s voice called down from the balcony. “Princess Gwenonwy?”

Her smile fell. “I feel dreadful that I keep leaving mid-conversation. I do hope that you know that I would rather be here. Are you certain that you won’t come cast your brooding shadow over the party?”

“There is too much risk. If Allfather Odin spies me—”

“No, no, I understand. I wouldn’t want for you to risk trouble on my account. But there must be something—”

“Princess!” The maidservant rounded the corner, sending a very arch look in Loki’s direction. “Princess Gwenonwy, there are several young men waiting to partner with you for dancing, and the musicians aren’t certain which songs to play.”

“Oh, tell them to play something even _more_ upbeat,” Gwenonwy replied. “Let us see how quick they are on their feet.”

The maid nodded, but hovered; it was clear that she didn’t intend to leave unless her lady accompanied her. Their moment was gone, short and bittersweet as ever, and Loki, resigned, dipped into a bow. “Many thanks for your advice, Princess Gwenonwy,” he said. “I will be certain to let my gardener know.”

“It was my pleasure,” she replied. “A lovely garden is key to a lovely home, and Alfen lilies are particularly fickle.” She swept off, her maid rushing behind her to keep from losing her again. 

Was it wrong, Loki wondered, to be pleased by the fact that she went along so quickly with any lie that he told? Likely so, but he couldn’t help but imagine all of the wonderful pranks they could play, if they did both somehow end up in the palace of Asgard… of course, in such a scenario, Gwenonwy would be expected to act even more prim and proper than now, and he doubted that she’d want to risk the Allfather’s displeasure over _him._

The maid might prove problematic. She seemed the type that might like to whisper damning things about him to Queen Fioled, and if Fioled caught wind of the fact that a strange Asgardian nobody was taking up disproportionate amounts of her daughter’s time, she’d likely have him thrown out onto the streets. 

Loki was much more careful, the following days. 

He would slip down to the grand hall early in the evening, before Gwenonwy was quite as in-demand, and he would steal a few moments of her time then, when she was less likely to be called away. He would wear one of the tunics she’d given him - sometimes with a tiny flower tucked in one of the button-holes, as he’d begun finding one ‘dropped’ outside of his door in the mornings. If any of the ladies-in-waiting caught sight of him, he’d usually end up taking a turn or two dancing, though he always tried to ensure that they stayed far from the dais, in the unlikely case that Odin Allfather felt festive enough to show up to the ball earlier than was absolutely necessary. 

It was not an ideal world, but Loki’s world had never been ideal.

Gwenonwy waylaid him one evening, just as he was about to slip away from the hall, and politely informed him that his presence was required in the gardens, then strolled away without pause. Loki stood in the doorway for a moment, puzzled, then decided he really had no choice but to follow her. 

The moon was big and bright when he reached the bottom of the steps that led down into the garden, and Gwenonwy was waiting for him with her hands clasped behind her back, as if she’d been waiting ages upon ages for him to make an appearance. He cast a nervous glance up to the balcony, but she turned and led him a bit further into the garden, behind the cover of several trees and stone columns covered with leafy, dangling vines.

“Has something happened, princess?” he asked.

“You still haven’t asked me to teach you to dance, Sindri,” the princess informed him, exasperated. “I will admit that I am terribly disappointed.”

“I already know how to dance, Gwenonwy. Even pauper-princes do have lessons in courtly etiquette, you know.”

“Asgardian dances, perhaps. Do you really expect me to believe that you had a governess who taught you the partnered dances of Alfheim?” Her dimple showed as she smirked up at him. “Oh, _I_ understand; did little Prince Sindri have an Alfen maid? Is that why you’ve come all this way, in pursuit of some lost childhood love?”

“No,” Loki replied, his cheeks coloring, “and you, princess, are being absolutely ridiculous. I am sure that you have _seen_ me dancing with—”

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him from the column where he leaned, a tiny hint of satisfaction on her face. “I am entitled to be ridiculous. It _is_ my party, is it not? You will dance; that is an order, though I won’t require that you come inside the hall, if you are truly so opposed to the idea.”

“The music—”

“I can hear it well enough, and you will be following my lead, so that is no excuse. Come, your hand goes on my waist, like this.”

Faint notes streamed out of the balcony door and into the garden, and Loki wondered if he’d died… though he wasn’t entirely sure if holding Gwenonwy in such a way was more akin to a reward in Valhalla, or to a punishment in Hel. 

She took his hand, and he stiffened as she twined her fingers through his. _Norns,_ he thought, _how do other men survive dancing with her this way?_ The thought was followed by a tiny flare of envy, which Loki was quick to push aside; the difference was that the other men had a purpose for dancing with her, while Loki did not. He was an interloper. 

_I do not belong here._

“You aren’t paying attention, Sindri,” Gwenonwy said. She tapped his ankle with her foot. “Step forward with this one, please.” He did, and the movement brought his body flush with hers. Her free hand came to rest on his shoulder, and she peered up at him from beneath her flower crown, almost shyly. “It will be easier to follow the dance if you can feel my movements.”

“Oh,” Loki replied weakly. “I see. But, princess, the song is ending, unless I am mistaken?”

“No need to worry; I know the next song that the musicians will be playing, and I can show you the steps to it just as well.”

The quick folk-dance faded into its last few notes, and there was a brief pause - during which time, much to his consternation, Gwenonwy did not move an inch. When the next song began to gently filter down from the hall above the garden, it was a soft, slow tune… and Loki was entirely unprepared for the way she leaned into him. 

“For the first bit,” she told him, “you must listen and _feel_ the music, and only then can you begin to dance. Can you feel the music, Sindri?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I can.”

The steps were laughably simple, and so slow that he would’ve almost had to try to fail, and Loki wondered why she’d seemed so intent on teaching him. _Perhaps it is out of pity,_ he thought, _as she knows that I avoid the great hall during the dancing. Perhaps she believes that I am cowardly and shy, and—_

He spun her around as the music swelled, unthinkingly sweeping her off of her feet, and she burst into startled giggles. Loki quickly sat her back down, mortified. “I should not have done that,” he began, “but in Asgardian dances—”

“Oh,” she interrupted, “you may spin me in the air as much as you’d like, my friend; I haven’t enjoyed a dance this much since… well, since I can remember. And you are so tall!”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“So very tall, and you lifted me into the air with no effort at all.” She bit her lip, then, and Loki quickly extricated himself from her arms, worried that he might do something irrevocably stupid while she held him spellbound. 

“You are very light,” Loki offered, “and we Æsir are famously hardy.”

The song has yet to end, and when she continued to stand so close to him, he hesitantly put his hand back on her waist. His hand seemed so large in comparison, and images flitted through his mind of hoisting her into the air again, of pressing her back against one of the stone columns, of kissing her… 

“If you do not want to finish the dance,” Gwenonwy said, “then you do not have to, Sindri. I do not want to force you to—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it is only… I am enjoying Alfen dances more than I expected.”

The worry melted from her eyes. “Am I not the most excellent of tutors?”

“You are, princess. Though… if you do enjoy the spinning, I might be persuaded to show you a few Asgardian dances, as well.”

“Truly?”

“Of course,” Loki replied, absolutely certain that he shouldn’t have offered. “It is only fair.”

“And are you a gentle teacher?”

“I sincerely doubt that I’d be gentle with you, princess,” he said, a bit perplexed when her cheeks took on the faintest hint pink. “That is to say, I wouldn’t think that you’d want to be treated daintily, would you?”

“From you, Sindri? I am not sure.”

_I do not know what to make of that,_ Loki thought. 

He was on the verge of offering to spin her through the air again, even without the proper music, when an unfamiliar man stepped out onto the balcony and caught sight of them. Loki reflexively stepped away from the princess, and she frowned when she looked over her shoulder and caught sight of the interloper making his way down the staircase.

“Prince Eadwulf,” Gwenonwy said, acknowledging him with a nod. “How nice it is to see you again.”

The man stopped beside her and sized Loki up rather blatantly. “Eadwulf of Vanaheim,” he said. “And you are…?”

“Sindri of Asgard,” Loki replied, the lie coming easily. 

“Oh? In which part of Asgard does your family dwell?”

“I am from nowhere particularly exciting, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “Nowhere you would recognize, my lord.”

“You might be surprised, sir,” Eadwulf boasted. “I am a relation of Queen Frigga, you see, and I am often invited to the Allfather’s palace in Asgard.”

_Is that so?_ Loki thought. _I have certainly never noticed you._

“Prince Eadwulf,” Gwenonwy said, “was there something that you required? I would not want to be a poor host.”

He seemed startled. Perhaps he expected her to seem more eager for the pleasure of his conversation. “I’d hoped for a dance, my lady. I was told that you frequent the gardens.”

“I do. Elves enjoy the outdoors.” She brushed her hand through some of the drooping tendrils of flowering vines. “It is easier to breathe.”

Eadwulf looked around the gardens, far less enthused. “Yes, well, I suppose it would be lovely if the musicians set up out here then, wouldn’t it? A bit chilly—”

“I do not mind a bit of a breeze,” she interrupted. “But, I would not want for a guest to be uncomfortable on my account. Come along, Prince Eadwulf. We will see what the musicians are about, and I will muster the energy for another dance.”

Eadwulf was too pleased to notice the irritation in her tone, and he offered her his arm. Gwenonwy took it, and after one last lingering glance back at Loki, she was gone up the stairs and back where she was _supposed_ to be. It was vital to remind himself of that - she was supposed to be in the hall with her many subjects and suitors, not in some lonesome garden, dancing with the likes of him.

Loki clenched his fists so tightly that they began to turn slightly blue, but he was far too distracted to notice. _Can you feel the music?_ she’d asked.

He could still feel it in his veins.

It was then that Loki realized what a terrible, terrible mistake he’d made.


	4. Gift

Loki looked back on the road that wound down towards Dinas Annwyn, bracing himself for the fall.  _ Only for a few days,  _ he reassured himself, and then he leapt off of the wall, landing in a crouch amongst the fallen leaves. His bag was full of the trinkets he’d begun to collect from Alfheim; he’d left much of his clothing in his room in the Maidens’ Tower, partly to reassure himself that he’d return. 

It had become abundantly clear that he couldn’t afford to linger any longer in Alfheim. His worries that his presence would be missed in the palace of Asgard were one thing, but the way he’d begun to view Gwenonwy was something else entirely. 

He hadn’t been able to drive the memory of his dance with Gwenonwy from his mind when he’d returned to his chamber, and it was not for lack of trying. After she’d been swept away to dance with Eadwulf, who Loki had already begun to despise, Loki hadn’t lingered long in the garden. He couldn’t bear to stand there, listening to the music play as she spun in the arms of someone else.

For a time, he’d paced about his room, confused and frustrated. It wasn’t possible that she’s begun to  _ care _ for him, was it? And even if she had, then he was even worse of a cad, for he’d deceived her… 

Some space would do him wonders, he’d decided. A note had been left on his pillow assuring her that he would return in a night or two, on the off-chance that she’d come looking for him, and then Loki had snuck out of the palace before sunrise. He’d taken a different path, this time around; fortunately, the roads seemed less-trafficked, now that so many had migrated into the city for the month. 

The portal in the pool that he’d originally used was beginning to grow unstable as the moon waned, and Loki felt as if he was on the verge of suffocating by the time he arrived back on Asgard. If he didn’t hurry, he feared that he would have to find an alternate route to Alfheim when he returned. It wouldn’t do to end up lost in the space between worlds, even for the sake of adventure. 

Sunlight was beginning to gleam off of the shining buildings of the city by the time he made it to the outer walls of the palace, and Loki slipped inside one of the servants’ doors by the kitchen, worried that scaling the outside of the tower that held his chambers would draw attention. He ducked into a storage room near the library to change his form; he was seen in that area of the palace often enough that the sight of him wouldn’t seem overly suspicious. 

As he walked through the halls towards his rooms, Loki stared at his hands, distracted. They were so  _ shockingly _ blue; he felt a bit ill, and his vision blurred and spotted, the sunrise through the open windows seeming far too bright.  _ I might’ve overextended myself,  _ he realized, hurrying to reach his bedchamber before he fainted. The guards patrolling the halls near the royal quarters gave him an odd look, but none stopped him, and he collapsed onto the floor as soon as he was through the threshold. 

Loki lay flat on his back, blinking slowly as the world spun around him.  _ I should have known better,  _ he thought.  _ I have spent so long in another form, and I had to practically rip open the portal to return to Asgard.  _ Frigga would’ve been furious with him, if she’d known; she was always cautioning him to be careful with his powers. 

_ I hope that I don’t die here on the floor. She would be terribly disappointed in me, and so would Gwenonwy.  _

He did not move until a hesitant knock sounded on the door, and when he did stand, his stomach churned. When he opened the door, it was only a maid, and he suppressed a sigh of relief. “What is it?” he snapped. 

The girl bobbed her head. “The guard said that you seemed troubled, Prince Loki, and that you might—”

“I will have breakfast in my rooms,” he interrupted, eager for her to leave before he fainted. “I am not feeling well. Other than breakfast, I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Of course, Prince Loki.” She hesitated, peering up at him. She must be new, he decided. The newcomers to the palace never seemed to know what to expect from a savage Jötunn prince. Loki imagined he must be rather disappointing. “Is there anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

Once she was gone, he carefully locked the door and slid down to the floor again, his head cradled in his hands. At least he’d made an appearance, he reasoned; he’d fulfilled the purpose of his trip back to Asgard, and he was hopeful that he would be able to stay in Alfheim for the remainder of the month. 

He was feeling a bit better by the time his breakfast arrived, and he allowed the maid to enter his chambers to place his tray on the table by his armchair. She did not do a particularly good job of hiding the fact that she was examining his rooms, and Loki wasn’t sure if he felt insulted, or flattered. If only he was as fearsome as his reputation had likely led her to believe; if she was expecting a hulking monster of a man, he imagined he was a fairly unimpressive. 

Loki had always wanted to be taken seriously, and so Odin had allowed him the questionable privilege of keeping up with the records sent in from some of the more remote Asgardian provinces. These were typically tedious, but Loki was almost relieved to find a stack of letters waiting for him on his breakfast tray. He needed a distraction from Alfheim, and from Gwenonwy, if only for a moment. 

On the top of the stack, he was surprised to find a letter from Thor, sent from Alfheim. It contained a very succinct account of the festivities so far, along with his sincerest wishes that he could trade places with Loki; he missed training, he said, and he’d danced at least one dance too many.  _ ‘Mother says to remind you that this is an excellent opportunity to practice your seiðr undisturbed, at least.’  _

Loki tossed the letter aside, scoffing. He supposed Thor he likely meant to do him a kindness, but the effect of it only served to make him more bitter over the fact that he’d been forced to attend the ball in disguise. Though, he reasoned, Frigga was right; this month  _ was _ proving to be the perfect opportunity to practice his powers. 

He forced himself to get out and about and visit the palace library, simply to make an appearance. If he wanted to be extremely thorough, he should likely visit the great hall, as well, but he had no desire to mingle with the nobles deemed too unimportant to accompany the Allfather to Alfheim. They’d likely all be gossiping over the possibility of Princess Gwenonwy choosing to wed an Æsir, and he’d already spent enough of his day dwelling on that possibility. 

In order to use the portal back to Alfheim, Loki had to leave before nightfall, which made his escape from the palace all the more challenging. His motivation, however, had greatly increased, and he found that even the brutal experience of travelling through the portal did not bother him nearly as much as it had the first time around. The journey back to Dinas Annwyn practically flew by in his eagerness, despite his pounding headache and strained powers. He told himself that he could rest after he’d seen her again. 

The halls of the palace were as busy as ever, and he had to linger for some time before he had an opening to slip up to his chamber to freshen up before the ball. Gwenonwy might’ve found it amusing to see him streaked with dirt and with leaves in his hair, but he didn’t  _ want _ her to be amused. No, Loki wanted her to find him pleasing to the eye, as he found her. 

His appearance wasn’t something that he’d ever neglected, but he’d always focused more on coming across as imposing than pleasing. From his armor to the braids he’d worn in his long hair, Loki had taken a twisted sort of comfort in reminding the Asgardian court that a Jötunn walked among them. He did think that his form was passable, but he was lean and lanky compared to the most well-favored men in the court, and he’d long ago given up any hope of growing one of the impressive beards that most of the Allfather’s warriors sported. 

Peering into the mirror in his chamber, he placed a hand on his cheek. Should he have altered that detail of his Æsir appearance? Would he seem more ideal to the princess? More serious and respectable? Masculine? What  _ did  _ Princess Gwenonwy of Alfheim look for in her ideal suitor? 

Sighing, Loki turned from the reflection of himself and made his way down to the ballrooms, trying to shake the self-doubt that plagued him now that the urgency of reaching the palace in time had begun to fade. The urgency had lent him focus, and without that focus, all he could do was dwell on what to say to her when he saw her. What if she’d made great friends with Thor in the night he’d been gone, or the obnoxious Eadwulf? Loki grimaced. 

It took him a few turns around the main hall to spot her, her small form easily obscured by the nobles who seemed to cluster around her and the rest of the royal family. He had no choice but to keep his distance or risk being spotted, and so he slunk off to their garden, hoping that she’d eventually tire of their company and wander outside for some fresh air.  _ And maybe, just maybe, _ his heart whispered,  _ she’ll come to the garden searching for you. _

Loki admired the flowers while he waited; there were quite a few plants growing in Fioled’s gardens that were useful for potions and spellwork, and he wondered if Frigga’s seen them. She did usually bring him gifts from the trips that Odin Allfather refused to allow him to join, and it would be a strange sort of humor if his gifts from Alfheim were flowers.

“Sindri!”

He looked up at the balcony, his heart lifting when he spied Gwenonwy leaning over the railing, waving enthusiastically. He raised his own hand in response, and she hurried down the steps towards him, pulling herself up short right before it seemed that she might tackle him into a bush. 

“Hello, princess,” Loki said, more pleased than he’d ever admit at such an enthusiastic greeting. 

“You left.”

“It was only for a little while, Gwenonwy, and I’m sure you had plenty of other guests to keep you entertained in my absence.”

“Yes,” she replied, “but none of them are  _ you,  _ silly man.”

“I am a very unique specimen, then?”

Gwenonwy huffed. “I should be terribly cross with you,” she said, “but it would seem that I am too relieved to see you again to be very convincing about it.” She rested a delicate hand on his arm. “And I will admit, all of this mystery does leave one wanting.”

_ Oh, Norns,  _ Loki thought,  _ what am I meant to say to that?  _ “You have mentioned that you enjoy having a puzzle to solve, princess. Perhaps I only hid myself away in an effort to make myself appear more intriguing.”

“I would not put such a thing past you, Sindri, you scoundrel. Shame on you for making your princess fret over you, if that is the case.”

“Are you my princess, now?” Loki asked, amused. “I do not recall swearing any grand oaths of fealty to you, Gwenonwy. What would Allfather Odin think of you stealing his subjects?”

“Allfather Odin has more than enough men in his service,” she replied. “He couldn’t possibly begrudge me for claiming one Asgardian for my own amusement.”

“Allfather Odin begrudges quite a lot, in my experience. Even lowly Sindri is bound to his whims.”

Gwenonwy rolled her eyes.  _ “‘Lowly Sindri.’  _ I do wish that you would tell me your name.”

“No,” Loki said, and taken up in the whirlwind of optimistic impulsivity, he placed his hand atop her own. “If I did that, then what would be your puzzle to solve? I am meant to amuse you, aren’t I?”

“I am nearly certain that you could find some other way to amuse me, Sindri.”

Anything clever that Loki might’ve hoped to say in response immediately went up in flames, fueled by the sweet, slightly heated look in her eyes. His treacherous mind conjured up flashes of his many daydreams of her, seeming to cruelly hone in on any notion he’d ever had of kissing her. She was no longer looking at him, either; her eyes were on his lips, and that made it all a thousand times more unbearable. 

Someone could come around the corner at any moment. They could be caught.

He couldn’t look away.

“Did you miss me, at least?”

“Of course, Gwenonwy,” Loki replied. “There is nowhere that I would rather be.”

Her eyes brightened, followed almost immediately by the shadow of some profound sadness. “Is that true?”

Loki nodded. The look in her eyes, he was certain, was pity. The thought of her pitying him cut most cruelly at his heart, and he wished that he had lied, instead. 

“Sindri,” she began hesitantly, her hand still covered by his own, “surely you are not  _ so _ low in the Allfather’s regard that he wouldn’t allow you to stay in the palace, are you? If I am to live there someday, I mean. I do not… I do not like to think that we may never see each other again, once I am married.”

“I cannot imagine that he would be happy to see that you’d made my acquaintance, princess.”

“Norns, you would lead me to believe you are a most monstrous villain, given how King Odin supposedly detests you, and yet I can find nothing objectionable about you at all. I am more than a little inclined to go demand an explanation from the Allfather himself.”

“Please,” Loki replied, trying to contain his panic, “don’t. It would serve neither of us well, I assure you. Besides, doing so would be admitting to your mother that you’ve been wasting your evenings with me, instead of your valuable suitors.”

He’d hoped to make a joke of it, but Gwenonwy burned with a sort of righteous indignation, now, and Loki realized that he’d never seen her truly angry. “You are worth  _ ten _ of the best of my suitors,” she whispered fiercely. “Never believe anything else.”

Unprepared for such an outpouring of emotion, Loki scrambled for something to say, something clever or impressive, something that would make her understand how she made him feel. Her delicate little hand still rested beneath his; he’d been afraid to do more than that, but his fingers curled around hers, now, his thumb stroking her wrist. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and when footsteps from the staircase sent them reeling from each other, his heart was nearly torn from his chest at the loss of a moment that he knew he did not deserve.

She was summoned back to her mother’s side, and the highly-critical look the maid gave him as she swept off after the princess left no doubt in Loki’s mind that word of their stolen moments would reach the queen’s ears. Perhaps it would be better if he simply went upstairs right in this moment and declared his name and his titles before the entire Alfen court, ending this foolish game once and for all. It was cruel of him to risk Gwenonwy’s future, and he was only causing himself more pain by entertaining ideas of having her as his own. 

He flexed his fingers, already missing the feeling of her tiny hand in his.  _ Loki, you fool. _ He’d actually thought - had  _ dared _ to think - that he had any right to kiss her. If they hadn’t been interrupted…  _ What  _ would _ you have done?  _ he asked himself.  _ Would you dare to do something so bold, without ever telling her your name? You are a coward, and a fool.  _

Defeated, Loki trudged up to his room in the tower, a room that, despite all reason, he had grown very fond of over the past few weeks. He changed into his smallclothes, folding his gifted tunic neatly and adding it to the stack of all of the others, then settled back on his bed, telling himself that a good night’s rest would surely clear his head. Hadn’t Frigga always told him that sleep could sort out many ailments? This fascination with Gwenonwy certainly qualified as an ailment; it was worse than any pain he’d ever experienced, even counting the times that he’d lost quite badly during combat training.

He wondered if Gwenonwy would be amused or cross at the idea of being an ailment. 

Loki closed his eyes and, much to his chagrin, almost immediately began replaying the moment when she’d seen that he’d returned, the relief on her face, clear as day. Then, too, was the way that she had leaned close to him, her eyes heavy-lidded and her pretty lips parted… He threw one of the pillows across the room in frustration, mortified that such an innocent memory would make him so terribly, painfully aroused. It wouldn’t be right to indulge himself, would it? 

But he did. He imagined himself twining his fingers through her hair, which looked so soft and silken, tasting her lips, kissing her until she was too breathless to tease him. Loki imagined, there in the little tower-haven that she’d given him, that he was not a Frost Giant fosterling at all, but someone who could sweep the princess off her feet with all of the pomp and circumstance she deserved. They would sneak away to enjoy themselves during their betrothal - he allowed himself to linger on the thought of her clothed in nothing but her crown of flowers - and when they were wed, he’d be able to hold her hand whenever he wanted. He’d be able to hold  _ her  _ whenever he wanted. 

Loki lay there on top of his sheets after he’d finished, slightly mortified. He’d pretended to hope that entertaining such thoughts might help them pass, but he knew that they’d only become stronger the longer they persisted.  _ You aren’t being very responsible, Loki,  _ he told himself.  _ But none of this has been very responsible, has it? _

He might’ve asked Thor for his advice, had things been different. Though their differences were many, Thor had always accepted him - not without limitations, perhaps, but he certainly considered him something like family. Indeed, Thor had attempted to nudge him towards taking an interest in some of the women in court, on more than one occasion. He’d always seemed a bit oblivious to just how much the rest of the court resented Loki’s presence, and Loki’d always had too much pride to point out to him that no Asgardian ladies were fawning over  _ him _ the way they fawned over Thor. 

But there was no one that he could seek out for advice on Gwenonwy. Even the fact that he’d met her was a result of his blatant disregard of the Allfather’s orders, and her marriage was of great importance to the politics of the Nine Realms. There was too much at stake, both for them, and for the Nine Realms… and that was already taking into account the very generous assumption that Gwenonwy would  _ want  _ to be courted by him. 

Loki wrapped himself up in a tight cocoon of covers, his earlier headache returning full-force.  _ Stop taking it all so seriously,  _ he told himself.  _ Stop dwelling on the negatives, being so emotional and weak. You’re spoiling your adventure, and you’ve no one to blame but yourself.  _

But when he slept that night, his dreams were once again filled with Gwenonwy, and when he woke in the morning, he only briefly considered going to explore more of the city before he decided to sneak down to the grand hall for breakfast, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. 

He was ruined.

The royal families all occupied the high tables in the hall, and Loki knew better than to venture to close to the sun, for Gwenonwy  _ was _ his sun, quickly becoming the light that brightened his days, and every move he took towards her risked setting him aflame. It was enough for his young, smitten heart to watch her from afar, working his way into the company of some well-to-do merchants from Vanaheim who neither knew nor cared who Sindri of Asgard was. He sat and smiled and nodded at their chatter, and all the while, he kept his eye on Gwenonwy.

And Gwenonwy, when she eventually cast her gaze across the room and caught sight of him, quickly averted her eyes and covered her hand with her mouth, but not before Loki caught sight of her smile. “What was that?” he asked distractedly, trying to turn his attention back to the merchant who was very clearly waiting for him to respond to some inquiry.

“I said, have you ever been to Alfheim before, or have you only come because of the celebrations?”

“I’m here only for the celebrations,” Loki replied. “I have always been curious, for who in the Nine has not heard of the loveliness of Queen Fioled’s palace?”

“Or the loveliness of her daughter, which you seem to have noticed for yourself,” the merchant said, laughing. Loki began to protest, his cheeks flushing, but the man waved his excuses away. “No need to feel shame, my boy. If I were as young and spry as you, I’d surely entertain notions of wooing princesses, as well.”

Loki cracked a small smile in return, some of his tension lessening. “I fear we both sit too far down from the high tables for any royal wooing, friend.”

The man shrugged. “Do you think that their table functions any differently than ours, then?”

“I cannot imagine that it does,” Loki said, slightly amused, “but the company surrounding it differs quite a lot, wouldn’t you say?”

“A person can choose the company they keep.” The man pointed at Loki with the spoon in his hand. “A  _ table, _ my boy, is only a table. You shouldn’t let a table stop you.”

“Are you encouraging me to chase after princesses? Will that not create more competition for your Vanir princes and lords?”

“If our princes and lords cannot handle a scrawny young upstart from Asgard as competition,” another of the merchants chimed in, clapping Loki good-naturedly on the back, “then they aren’t fit to be our princes and lords.”

Loki wasn’t used to conversing with commoners, or conversing with strangers at all, really. In the Allfather’s palace, he was often required to participate in polite conversation with visiting nobles and dignitaries, and he spent some time with Thor’s companions. There were occasional servants who exchanged a few words with him… but no one really spoke to him of their own volition. No visitors ever decided to strike up meaningless breakfast chatter with Loki Laufeyson.

He quite liked it.

“Scrawny young upstarts are not to be taken lightly,” he said.

“No,” the merchant replied, his eyes a bit more serious, “I imagine they aren’t.”

The rest of breakfast passed without incident, and Loki was moderately successful in reigning in the urge to blatantly stare at the princess. He made himself scarce after that, asking a passing servant to direct him to the palace library, certain that Gwenonwy had all sorts of things to occupy her time in the hours before the day’s ball would begin.

It was quite a shock, then, when her head appeared around the end of the bookshelf where Loki had hidden himself, nestled on a large armchair in the far corner of the library. The book he’d been reading snapped shut with unnecessary force, and he rose, automatically folding into a half-bow. “Princess Gwenonwy,” he said, “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

“Are you disappointed?” She plopped down onto the cushion beside his. “Please, sit.”

He did. “Never disappointed, princess, but certainly surprised. I did expect that you would have very little free time during the day, given how busy you are kept during the evenings.”

“I snuck away,” she said, winking at him. “I saw you escaping after breakfast, you know, and it wasn’t all that difficult to track you down. The maid you asked for directions remembered you quite clearly; you are very striking, Sindri.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, indeed.” She edged a bit closer to him, her voice lowered conspiratorially. “So striking, in fact, that dear Lady Enid was quite worried when you disappeared so suddenly. You seem to have impressed her.”

Loki cleared his throat. “Did I?”

“And she doesn’t even know that you can do magic. Oh! On that note, Sindri, I thought that you might be interested to know that magic was discussed at the high table today - did you know that Frigga Allmother was gifted? I expect you did, but it was very interesting to hear her speak of it. It did make me yearn for another demonstration of your gifts, I’ll admit.”

“Ah, so now Princess Gwenonwy admits the  _ true _ nature of her visit,” Loki teased, setting his book aside. “She wishes to make demands of a sorcerer.”

“Only very small demands, Sindri.”

“What shall I show you, then?”

“I will leave that up to your expertise.”

Loki took a moment to consider. She’d been impressed by fire, but he’d like to do something a bit more substantial, this time around. He reached up and boldly plucked a sprig of flowers from her hair, suddenly struck with inspiration. “You love your flowers, don’t you?” he asked. “Would you like to have them to keep with you always, even in the cold and snows?”

“Of course,” she began, “but how—”

The flowers glowed in his fingers, and when the green and gold light of his magic faded, they were crystal-clear, solid glass. Loki released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relieved that the spell had worked as he’d hoped. “Here you are, princess,” he said, placing the sprig in her palm. “A gift from Sindri, and one that I hope you will cherish.”

“Norns,” she whispered, “it is beautiful. How is it possible?”

Loki shrugged, grinning. “Magic, obviously.”

“Well, I cannot argue with that, can I?” Her fingers closed around the flowers, and she held them to her heart. “I  _ will _ treasure this gift,” she said. “Always. I do hope that you know how happy I am to have met such a splendid person, especially at a time where I find myself needing a friend.”

“Of course, Gwenonwy,” Loki replied, his heart warm and strangely calm. “I will always be your friend.”

It was one of the most surreal mornings of Loki’s young life. The princess sat beside him on the couch and held him transfixed with her constant chatter and eager expression; he’d never particularly noticed nor cared about the finer details of Alfen dance etiquette, but in her care, the conversation was completely captivating. So, too, was the gossip about the visiting Vanir nobles, and her assessment of Odin Allfather.

“You really shouldn’t criticize the Allfather this way,” he whispered, smothering his smile. “He might be your father-in-law, soon enough.”

“If he comes to a party,” Gwenonwy replied, “then he might as well make an earnest attempt at a smile. It is  _ my _ party, after all.”

Loki conceded that it was, and some part of him yearned to see the princess give Odin Allfather a piece of her mind. She would be a very fearsome bride-to-be, and he doubted that Odin would appreciate her sharp tongue.

She had to leave in the late morning; he had no idea how she’d managed to evade her attendants for so long, but he was impressed that she had. Loki was informed that his attendance at the ball that evening was mandatory, and was thanked, yet again, for the gift of the glass flowers. 

“I can remake them into something more sturdy,” Loki offered. “Silver, perhaps.”

“Don’t you dare, Sindri,” she said. “They are absolutely perfect, just the way they are.”

They danced again at the ball that night, in the shadows of the garden, a stolen moment in time, every bit as delicate and precious as the sprig of glass flowers he’d given her. Loki was in Valhalla, his fears and his doubts easily pushed aside in the light of her continued affection, even though he cautioned himself, deep down, that he hadn’t truly earned it.

Their fragile stolen moments continued over the following days. There was never enough time, never time to do more than exchange a few teasing words and a dance or two, if they were lucky and her presence wasn’t missed for long enough to allow it. Loki had never before felt such acceptance, such _ joy,  _ and he decided that whatever punishment the Norns devised for his sins, he would accept it gladly.

He retired to his room in the evenings and practiced his magic, her enthusiasm for his abilities bolstering his dreams of becoming the greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When his magic was exhausted and his nerves frayed, he’d turn back to his sketching, his heart light and his mind filled with dangerous, sentimental daydreams. On one such night, he was working on a drawing of her sitting in the library, a book in her hand. It wasn’t a scene from life, but a scene from a life that he lived in his imagination, a life where she was his, and they whiled away peaceful afternoons together.

A knock sounded on the door, loud and demanding, and Loki hesitantly opened it. Outside stood Thor, cloaked and hooded, and Loki’s heart plummeted. 

“Hello, Brother.”


	5. Secret

Loki, usually so eager to consider every possible way to extricate himself from a tricky situation, had somehow allowed himself to be so caught up in pining over Gwenonwy that he had forgotten to truly plan for what to do if his deception was uncovered. His first instinct was to slam the door in Thor’s face, but he knew that it wouldn’t make his problem disappear. 

“Are you going to let me in, Loki?” Thor asked, pulling his cloak tighter around his broad shoulders. “This tower is damnably cold.”

Unsure of any alternatives, Loki stood aside and let him in, slamming the door behind him. “I can explain,” he said.

“I am not planning to tell Father,” Thor began at the same time, and the two stared at each other for a moment, uncertain. 

“You aren’t?” Loki finally asked. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I have no  _ desire _ to marry Princess Gwenonwy,” Thor replied, exasperated. “I had no desire to come to Alfheim at all; Lady Sif has my heart, but Father will not listen—”

“How long have you known that I was here?”

“Well, I suspected it was you when I first caught a glimpse of you on the balcony. You look practically the same, Loki, only less… blue. And you’ve gone and cut your hair. Any fool could recognize you, and you are foolish if you thought otherwise. I  _ knew  _ it was you when I saw that little glass flower Princess Gwenonwy has been wearing tucked in her crown; I remember when Mother taught you that spell.”

Loki flushed. “I was only bored,” he said. “I was tired of being confined to the palace, and I thought this might prove entertaining.”

“Entertaining, indeed. You are smitten with the princess.” Thor began poking about his room, then, a curious look on his face. “How did you find this place? For that matter, how did you even reach Alfheim? The Bifrost Bridge wasn’t used; Heimdall would not have allowed you to pass through.”

“There are passages between the worlds that even Heimdall does not know, for all of his mighty powers. As for the room… Gwenonwy has provided it for me, as a kindness.”

“Oh,  _ Gwenonwy, _ is it?” He held up one of the embroidered silken tunics hanging over the chair by the hearth. “And does Gwenonwy of Alfheim know that you are Loki of Jotunheim?”

“No, she does not.”

“You must be more careful, Loki. If I can find you, then so can the other guests from Asgard. Norns, if Mother catches a glimpse of you, she will uncover your deception even more quickly than I did.”

Loki snatched the tunic from his foster-brother’s hands. “I know that. I have made it nearly the entire month without being noticed, and only a few days remain until the princess chooses her match, and everything returns to the way it was.”

“I am only warning you that you should not become careless,” Thor replied. “You’ve fallen in love with her, and you are not thinking clearly. The risk—”

“I have not fallen in love with her,” Loki snapped.

“You’re supposed to be the clever one, aren’t you? Telling me that I am being reckless? Well, this is the  _ height _ of recklessness, Loki. You are playing with fire—”

“She truly  _ cares _ for me.”

Thor paused, apparently surprised by Loki’s vehemence. “I do not doubt that she does. From all of my encounters with the princess, she seems like a very kind girl, and I do not mean to suggest that she is insincere. But, if anyone else notices that you’re here, word  _ will  _ reach Father. Do you want that?”

“I would endure eons of Odin’s lecturing to spend even one more day here.” Loki felt his desperation rising. “Please, Brother, you mustn’t tell—”

“Norns, Loki, and you claim that you  _ aren’t _ in love with her? Perhaps Mother—”

“No! Not even her. I didn’t mean for anyone to find out at all; you know that she won’t be able to change his mind, especially after I’ve already defied him.”

“If she accompanies us back to Asgard, then the two of you could be  _ formally _ introduced, and it would be much easier for Mother to make a case for it,” Thor said. “You are a prince, Loki; you’re going to be the King of Jotunheim someday, and that must count for something.”

“Must it, Thor? Must it really? My being the future King of Jotunheim is the very reason that Odin refused to allow me to come to Alfheim in the first place. He doesn’t  _ want  _ Jotunheim to have more allies; in fact, he is actively trying to prevent it.”

Thor seemed lost in thought. “What if… what if the princess was betrothed to me, but the wedding postponed until I am king? Once Father has handed over the mantle of Allfather to me, Loki, then I can marry you off to whoever you’d like.”

“That might take decades; no one would allow you to stall for so long. You’ll be expected to have an heir or two by the time Odin decides to relinquish his throne.” The thought made him slightly ill, something almost like panic rushing through his veins at the thought of the princess not only marrying someone else, but carrying their children, as well. “That cannot… I cannot—”

“There has to be some way,” Thor interrupted, gripping Loki’s shoulder. It was unexpectedly calming, bringing him down from his chaotic imaginings. “I do not wish to marry her, and you do; for such a simple thing, there must be a solution that everyone will find agreeable.”

“There isn’t,” Loki replied, miserable. “And besides, it’s as you said. Gwenonwy doesn’t realize that she’s befriended Loki of Jotunheim.”

“If you’ll let me talk to Mother—”

“No!” Loki cried. “No, however well Frigga may mean, if she interferes, Odin will come to know of my presence here, and that is something that I will not risk.  _ Please,  _ Brother, let this be. I’m begging you.” His voice wavered. “Please.”

“I’ve already said that I won’t, haven’t I? I have no desire to see you punished, especially not for something like this. This isn’t some common prank, Loki. Whether or not you allow me to try to help you, you must return to Asgard at once, before anyone else comes to learn of this deception.”

“I will, as soon as it becomes necessary.”

Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish that you had come to me. This madness… I cannot even begin to imagine how to untangle it.” A new thought seemed to occur, and he suddenly broke eye contact, fixing his gaze at a point somewhere beside Loki’s head. “I must ask if you and the princess have gone to bed together.”

“What? Of course we haven’t—”

“There’s no need to act so shocked - I only thought that it would be prudent to remind you that a child would ruin any chance at all of hiding your secrets.”

“Norns,” Loki groaned,  _ “must  _ we have this conversation now? I am not completely ignorant of these things, Thor, and it does not matter, either, because the princess sees me as a friend and confidante, nothing more.”

“It isn’t a conversation I particularly wanted to have this evening, either,” Thor retorted, “but it is my duty as your brother to see to it that you know these things, for Father certainly isn’t going to have these sorts of conversations with you. The mess has already been made, but we can at least limit the effects of it.”

“There is no ‘we’ here. I have caused this mess, as you called it, and I will see that it is resolved. Go your own way, and forget that you have seen me here. I will be waiting back at home in the palace when you all return to Asgard, and this will all be but a distant memory.”

Sighing, Thor turned to the door. “Be careful, Brother,” he said, and then he ducked under the low lintel and left, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary.

Loki sank into his bed, suddenly feeling very numb. Was it all over? Was this how his first adventure ended? His first love? He had no choice but to admit it to himself, now that he’d been forced to confront his feelings by Thor, of all people. 

He was falling in love with her. 

~*~*~*~

Loki was a nervous wreck when he saw Gwenonwy again; he’d been expecting guards to show up at his door all through the night, despite Thor’s assurances that he wouldn’t reveal Loki’s secret. He’d barely managed to sleep at all, and when he did, he dreamt of how horrified she would be if she did see his true face. 

But the princess had only smiles for him, when he met with her in the garden, the afternoon light streaming through the leaves of the trees that sheltered them. “Hello, my Prince of Ashes,” she said, holding out her hand for him to take. 

He clasped her fingers, feeling guilty even as he did so. He was only causing trouble - trouble for himself, and trouble for her. “Hello, princess,” he replied. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well. I must admit that I have been enjoying these past few weeks quite a bit more than I expected - and you’re to thank for that, Sindri.”

“I am glad to hear it. I never imagined that Alfheim could be quite so captivating, yet I find myself dreading the moment when I must return to Asgard.”

“Well,” Gwenonwy said, “with any luck at all, we will both be on Asgard together, when all is said and done. Then neither of us will want for a friend.”

Loki dropped her hand as quickly as if he’d been scalded. “Has an arrangement been made?”

She seemed almost hurtt, but she masked it quickly. “I thought that it would make you happy. Their prince seems kind enough, and given his seeming disinterest, I am sure that he and I would live very separate lives in the palace. I would much rather that, than to be somewhere far away from you. My options… my options are limited.”

“Would that be seemly, Gwenonwy?”

“Of course,” she replied hotly. “Why would it not?”

“Because I am a man, and you are a woman, and you will be the wife of the future King of Asgard. You’re being a silly girl—”

“The future Queen of Asgard can keep whatever company she wishes,” Gwenonwy interrupted, and Loki felt a pang of regret at the thin sheen of tears in her eyes. “I might be a silly girl, Sindri, but you are just as much a silly boy if you think that I will be content with never seeing you again.”

Loki faltered. “I… apologize, princess,” he said. “I am only trying to warn you that my company isn’t worth the trouble that I would cause you. I am… my real name is not one held in high regard, in the palace. You’d be tainted by association.”

Gwenonwy smiled, furiously blinking back her tears. ‘That does sound very exciting, though, doesn’t it? Causing a stir in the court?” She brushed back a loose strand of hair, her fingers resting for a moment by the glass flowers tucked into her crown. “It is just as easy to say that I will corrupt you, Sindri.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes. Imagine the strange foreign queen, luring in Asgardian noblemen to entertain her every whim; you know how tricky we elves can be.”

Her attempts at levity were appreciated, even though Loki’s heart was still heavy. “What a sweet corruption that would be.” He returned her smile, hoping to ease her mind, then impulsively added, “Might I ask you something, princess?”

“Anything at all.”

“If you could live your life anyway you chose, what sort of life would it be?”

“A difficult question,” she replied. “I try not to entertain such imaginings too often, as it tends to be a bit depressing to realize how far-fetched they are.”

“Luckily for you, I adore far-fetched imaginings.”

“Well, then, I suppose I would have a cozy little palace built in the northern mountains. It is very beautiful there, and the weather is nearly always crisp and cool; there are trees and flowers that thrive on the mountainsides that cannot be found anywhere else in Alfheim.”

“It sounds very peaceful. Would you not marry at all, then, if given the choice?”

“I would,” she said, ‘but only someone that I truly loved, someone who would be equally happy going on adventures with me or doing nothing at all.” Her dimple appeared as her smile deepened. “I would like to have a very large family, someday. What of your dreams, Sindri?”

“I have always thought that I should aim to reclaim my family’s fortune,” Loki told her, taking a seat on one of the benches. Gwenonwy sat beside him, and while neither of them made any move to touch the other again, the unspoken desire hung heavy in the air. “To impress Odin Allfather, in some way, and make a name for myself. To be fearsome and powerful.”

“To be the greatest sorcerer in the Nine?”

Loki laughed. “That, too.”

“And would you marry? Have children? Or would you use your looks and your charm to keep an army of mistresses at your beck and call, as so many young men dream of doing?”

His cheeks colored.  _ What a ridiculous notion,  _ he thought. “I would like a wife,” he said. “The loveliest, cleverest wife in the Nine Realms, and while we are listing impossible dreams, I believe I’ll dream up a fine castle of my own, where she will want for nothing.”

“The loveliest and cleverest? Goodness, I do hope that you find her.”

_ I already have, _ Loki thought, and while he didn’t dare say it aloud, when he took her hand in his and smiled at her, he hoped that she knew that it was her.

~*~*~*~

The knock on his chamber door came late in the night, and Loki resigned himself to the fact that he’d been discovered. He briefly considered trying to pen a quick farewell note to Princess Gwenonwy, but he supposed that she’d soon learn exactly who she’d been harboring, if the news of the scandal had reached the ears of the king and queen. 

He could fight, but Jotunheim would suffer for it, and while Loki felt little attachment to his birth-realm, it was nevertheless his duty to shield them from the Allfather’s wrath. Still, he approached the door with a knife held behind his back; if it was only one soldier sent to retrieve him, or someone who’d noticed him slipping off to the tower and gotten a bit too curious, perhaps he could put an end to any loose threads then and there. Killing someone to hide his secret wasn’t ideal, but if it was necessary…

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t a guard or a servant or even Thor, back to try to change his mind. No, outside of his chamber stood Gwenonwy, wrapped up in a very plain, brown cloak that he imagined she’d stolen from one of the servants. “Princess?” he said, suddenly painfully conscious of the dagger clasped behind his back. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you, of course.” She stood on tip-toe to peer over his shoulder. “Is something the matter? You don’t have a guest—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gwenonwy,” Loki replied, stepping back to allow her into his room. He tucked the knife into his belt, noting that he needed to find a spell to hide it on his person, in case he ever found himself in such a situation again. “What guests would I be entertaining? And at this hour of the night?”

She pursed her lips. “You could’ve had a woman visiting you.”

“In the Maiden’s Tower? What a scandalous thing to suggest.”  _ Besides,  _ he thought,  _ you are the only woman for me. Haven’t you realized that yet, Gwenonwy? _

“Apparently I am supposed to  _ expect _ such things of hot-blooded young men,” she said with a huff, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I learned that Prince Eadwulf has had several such companions while here, and I doubt he is the only one. That should be a mark against them, don’t you think?”

Loki was appalled on her behalf, though he supposed he should be glad that some of her suitors were even more objectionable that he was. “Would you like for me to get rid of them for you, princess?” he asked, only half-teasing. 

“No, you’d best leave them be. According to Mother, it isn’t something worth making a fuss over. She says that I am old enough that I should be more understanding. Do you think that I should be more  _ understanding, _ Sindri?”

“Norns, no. But, you’d already decided that Eadwulf was out of the competition to be your husband, hadn’t you? You have no reason  _ not _ to give him a piece of your mind. Let him bear the brunt of your disapproval.”

Gwenonwy sighed. “Do you imagine that Prince Thor would do the same? Is fidelity in a royal match truly as rare as my mother makes it sound?”

“Prince Thor values his honor,” Loki replied. “I cannot say for certain that he would make you happy, but I do not imagine that he would be unfaithful. And… despite my dislike for Odin Allfather, to my knowledge, he has always been entirely devoted to Frigga Allmother. You should never settle for anything less than devotion, Gwenonwy.”

“That is comforting.” She patted the space beside her on the bed. “Won’t you sit beside me?”

“Are you actively attempting that corruption you mentioned earlier, princess?”

She grinned. “What if I am?”

“Then I should make at least an attempt to remain uncorrupted,” Loki said, dragging a chair over from the fireside. He sat down across from her, finding the idea of being on his bed with her far too tempting. “On that note, I have to wonder how you’ve managed to sneak away from your maids. They are usually more persistent, aren’t they?”

“I bribed one of my ladies to lie for me,” she said. “If anyone asks, I am feeling unwell and have secluded myself so that I might recover in time for tomorrow’s party.”

_ “Lying? _ For shame.” Loki couldn’t help but smile, too, even with the hilt of his dagger digging into his back and reminding him of the precariousness of the situation. “Well, I suppose I must offer you my hospitality, as it is technically your chamber, and not mine.”

“Your hospitality is most graciously accepted, my prince,” Gwenonwy replied, and then she spread out on her back, stretching like a cat. With her cloak removed, her thin nightgown clung to her skin, and Loki averted his eyes. “I could always raise a fuss and refuse  _ all _ of my suitors,” she continued, a bit more hopefully. “I could stay here in Dinas Annwyn, and I could keep you prisoner here in my tower. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“It would, as long as you let me out to get some fresh air every now and again.”

“I’d always wondered why evil kings and sorcerers kept people locked up in towers. I begin to see the appeal, now.” She kicked off her slippers, giggling when one of them narrowly missed Loki’s head. “My apologies, Sindri. I was not aiming for you.”

“I’m not entirely certain that I believe you.” Loki wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, given that the princess was now sprawled very elegantly across his small bed, like something out of one of his wildest daydreams. “Do you plan to stay for long, then?”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “I really don’t know,” she said. “I was living in the moment. Would you like for me to leave? I am sure that you must be tired—”

“No, not at all. I was only wondering how I might entertain you.”

“You could tell me your name.”

“Ah,” Loki said, shaking his head, “that is something that I cannot do, princess. I could show you another spell, if you’d like?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Very well. Close your eyes.” He took advantage of the moment to hide the knife away more securely, then conjured up a handful of bright, glowing globs of light, tossing them up into the air over his bed, where they stuck in thin air. “You may look now,” he said.

She opened her eyes and gasped. “You have brought the stars into your room,” she exclaimed. “Is this something that you do often? If I had this gift, they would watch over my sleep every night.”

“No,” Loki replied, “not often. I am glad that you like them, though.”

“Will you leave them there, at least for the evening?”

“I will.”

Gwenonwy beamed at him, twisting a strand of hair around one of her fingers. “If you do see your house restored someday, Ash Prince, then you should set these little stars over your great hall, striking all who visit you with wonder.”

“You really find them that grand, do you?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Loki reminded himself that he had to have been mistaken when he’d thought that she’d seemed close to kissing him, because the look in her eyes now was strikingly similar. His throat was dry, and he was suddenly very glad that he’d elected to sit on a chair, rather than joining her on his bed. “I am feeling very tired all of a sudden, princess.”

“Oh?” She seemed a bit disappointed, but she sat up. “I will take my leave of you, then. I really shouldn’t risk being caught out of bed at this hour, so I suppose it is for the best.” Gwenonwy retrieved her slippers and her cloak, and Loki stood and trailed after her as she made to leave, uncertain as to what sort of courtesy one was expected to extend when receiving late-night, clandestine meetings from the princess one loved. “Goodnight, Sindri,” she said, her hand on the door. “I do feel much more at-ease, now, and I thank you for it.”

“I am glad,” Loki replied. “Goodnight, Gwenonwy.”

~*~*~*~

Their time together was running short, but Gwenonwy drew Loki like a moth to flame, and despite Thor’s warnings and his own common sense, he lingered more in the banquet halls and gardens in those final days, happy when he even caught a glimpse of her. It was madness, he knew, but of the sweetest kind, and no matter what was to come of it, Loki could not stay away. 

He was lingering on the balcony one evening when one of the palace servants came hurrying up to him, barely pausing to press a note in his palm before he disappeared back into the crowd. Loki slunk back into the shadows to read it, bitter apprehension already biting in his throat. When he unfolded the little scrap of parchment, the handwriting was instantly familiar.  _ Thor’s. _ His heart sped.

_ ‘Your absence has been noticed,’ _ the note read.  _ ‘Run.’ _


	6. Discovery

Loki ran.

The note crumpled in his palm as he ran - not for the palace gate, nor for his tower hideaway, but for the great hall, where Gwenonwy was dancing with one of her suitors. He cut in as smoothly as he was able, earning a look of displeasure from the young nobleman, which Loki completely ignored. He rushed her over to hide behind one of the columns, his hand on her waist. He had nothing left to lose, now, and such impropriety paled in comparison to all of his other crimes.

“Sindri?” she asked, her eyes wide and confused, a polite smile still half-frozen on her lips. “Is something—”

“I thought that I would have more time,” he said, cupping her cheek in his palm. She was so warm and soft and lovely, and he tried to memorize her features, fearing that he’d never see them again. “I hope you know that I will never forget you.”

Her smile faded, replaced by fearful apprehension. “What do you mean? What has happened?”

“I must leave now, princess,” he told her. “Forgive me, I never meant to disappoint you.”

“Wait, Sindri!”

Her plaintive cry tore his heart, but Loki had already turned to flee. If he didn’t return to the palace in time, if Odin found him there, with Gwenonwy…

“Sindri!”

He kept running. 

He’d never make the portal in time; it would take hours to navigate through the forest, and longer still to travel to the palace once he’d arrived back on Asgard. There was no time to go back to his chamber for any of his things, so he’d have to hope and pray that Gwenonwy would destroy them, before they were found and used as evidence against him. If he could reach Asgard in time, perhaps he could convince Odin that it was all some terrible mistake. 

The note had only said that his absence from the palace had been noted, after all, and not that his deception had been uncovered. If the Allfather knew that Loki was here on Alfheim, mere rooms away from where he currently sat eating his dinner and discussing who knows what with Queen Fioled, he’d surely be calling all of his men to arms. Loki couldn’t bear to imagine the humiliation of it, being dragged before the Alfen court and unmasked as Loki Laufeyson. It would be far better, in Loki’s opinion, if Gwenonwy never learned the truth. He’d rather be a fond memory than a shameful one.

His mad dash through the halls and courtyard earned him some inquisitive looks, but no one stopped him. All of the palace servants had gotten used to seeing their foreign visitors behaving strangely, he supposed, especially late in the evening when many of them succumbed to drunkenness. Loki was quick on his feet and more graceful than most, and he dodged and wove though the streets of Dinas Annwyn until he felt that his heart was about to burst.

_ Run. _

The word echoed over and over in his mind. 

If he couldn’t use the portal between realms, he’d have to tear open a path of his own. Loki feared that such a massive, unpracticed act of sorcery might very well kill him, but he had no choice. He hurried into the forest, searching for a pool holding moonlight or starlight. He couldn’t find more than a puddle, however, and time was marching forward relentlessly, so he decided that he’d have to make do.

_ Norns,  _ he prayed,  _ please guide me safely through. Please let my fate not be cut short here, alone and afraid.  _ For Loki was frightened, more frightened than he’d ever been in his young life. 

The portal felt as if it was ripping his soul from his body, and perhaps it was. His magic strained and tore as he plummeted through the fabric of space, and he landed face-first in a puddle in one of the Asgardian palace’s courtyards, several paces from the fountain that he’d been aiming for when he’d made his leap. He groaned in pain, rolling onto his side. 

_ Get up,  _ he ordered himself.  _ Get up, Loki Laufeyson, before all is lost. You are still alive. Get up.  _

His palms were scraped and raw, but he pushed himself to his feet and staggered to one of the covered walkways that led into the palace, stopping to lean against a column to catch his breath. When he held his hands up to examine them, he saw the blue of his skin bleeding through his disguise, the last of Sindri fading away. 

He half-ran, half-staggered towards his chambers, making use of every secret passageway he could think of in an effort to spare himself from the questioning looks of the palace’s inhabitants. His tunic was still of Alfheim, and he no longer held enough power to mask even such a simple thing as that. 

He was too late.

Einherjar awaited him outside his chamber, blocking the door. “Prince Loki of Jotunheim,” their captain said, “you are to remain confined in your chambers from this moment, by orders of Odin Allfather.”

“On what charges?” Loki demanded, his heart pounding.

“Treason, sire, and if you resist, we are authorized to remove you to the dungeon until the king has returned to judge you.”

Resisting would do him no favors. “I will surrender to house-arrest,” he said. “Stand aside. You may tell the Allfather that Loki Laufeyson has committed no treason against him.”

“You may tell him yourself, Prince Loki, for he will be returned from Alfheim by sunrise.”

When Loki entered his chambers, the weight of all that he had done came crashing down upon his shoulders like an icy wave. Gwenonwy was lost to him, perhaps forever; if he’d been less foolish, he might’ve at least kept her as a distant friend, exchanging occasional letters as her dear Sindri. Perhaps, he hoped, Odin would be eager to cover up the truth, and the princess would never learn that he was a Frost Giant, an unwanted fosterling. 

Perhaps the happiness they’d shared could endure untainted in her memory, at least.

His doors were guarded, as were his windows; when he looked out over the garden, he saw that it was swarming with soldiers. Loki cursed the Norns. What had he ever done to deserve such a fate? He’d been forced to sacrifice his youth for peace between the realms, and even now, it seemed that he could not be allowed any sort of lasting peace for himself.

He did not sleep, and he was standing by his window when the Bifrost Bridge flared, signaling the return of the royal family to Asgard. Numb hopelessness bled through his veins. He expected that Odin would sentence him to this house-arrest for a terribly long time, and if Gwenonwy did marry into the Allfather’s family, if she was in the same palace, forever beyond his reach… Loki did not know how he would bear it. 

Loki did not expect to be put in chains to be taken down to the throne room to face his foster-father, but he did not struggle with the guards. Perhaps Odin would be merciful, and his punishment would be short. Were his crimes truly so great? What harm had he done?

Odin Allfather sat upon his great throne in a silent fury when Loki was led before him. Near the foot of the dais, the queen and Thor stood tense fretful, Frigga wringing her hands. Loki had hoped for a private audience, but the court was there, as well, and they fell so silent at his appearance that every rattle of his chains seemed to resonate throughout the hall.

“Allfather,” Loki said, “I do not understand--”

“Do you dare to feign ignorance with me? You have acted in direct, willful opposition of your king, creeping away from the palace under the cover of night. I have kept you under my roof in peace, raised you, clothed and fed you, and this is how I am repaid?”

“I am a Prince of Jotunheim, Allfather. It is well within my right to attend such gatherings.”

“You have no rights aside from the ones I allow you, boy. The conditions of your time here are between myself and your father. Do you think that Laufey will be pleased to hear that his son cast his duties to his people aside to chase after entertainment? What’s more, if Queen Fioled discovers your deceitful attempts to enter her court—”

“Perhaps we should pretend none of it ever happened,” Loki interrupted, surprising himself. “As you’ve said, this situation helps no one—”

“No,” Odin practically roared, slamming the great spear Gungnir against the ground, “I will not tolerate this insolence from you, Loki Laufeyson—“

“My king,” Frigga began, “Loki had no way—”

“His  _ only _ task was to stay here, in this palace, under my supervision. You are a selfish, irresponsible boy, Loki, and you have thrown the fate of your realm in jeopardy for an evening of  _ sport.” _

Thor stepped between them. “Father, Loki is a man fully-grown, just as I am. He’s been a part of our family for centuries, since we were  _ children. _ He meant no harm.”

“An untrustworthy, ungrateful Jotünn has no place in my family,” Odin replied, “nor in my court. Your powers are forfeit, Loki, as you have proven yourself unworthy of them.”

The guards tightened the leads on Loki’s chains, which suddenly felt a great deal heavier, and his heart sped so rapidly that he feared he might faint. “Allfather, please, if you’ll only allow me to make amends—”

“I won’t allow your transgressions to spoil the peace that I have with King Laufey, but neither will I allow you to wander my halls any longer. You will be taken to the dungeons below the palace, where you will remain until I see fit to free you. I can only hope that you spend your time there reflecting on the severity of what you’ve done.”

“I did not realize that parties were so severe, Allfather,” Loki said quietly. He felt like he was no longer in his body, a dull rushing sound filling his ears. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was all just a nightmare. 

There was a moment of silence, and then Odin’s eye narrowed. “Take him,” he said.

Dazed, Loki didn’t bother to struggle as the guards led him away, the heavy stares of every Asgardian in the throne room upon his back. He’d thought that he might be confined to his rooms for a time, but this… He’d be nothing more than any other prisoner, no better than a common criminal. He furiously blinked; he couldn’t afford to allow any tears to fall. His people would be disgusted if they knew that this latest rejection from Odin Allfather filled him with more pain that fury. He wasn’t supposed to care what Odin thought of him. He wasn’t supposed to want his approval.

The dungeons were a relatively-unfamiliar area of the palace. He’d helped Thor escort criminals they’d captured during their escapades down to the cells, but they’d typically turned them over to the prison guards to deal with. The rows upon rows of clear-walled cells stretched before him, an endless maze of everything from petty criminals to vicious interrealm murderers. 

_ This is the company that I’ll be keeping,  _ Loki thought,  _ until Odin discovers some drop of mercy in his heart.  _

~

Loki sat alone in his cell, berating himself for his foolishness. If he had kept his heart more carefully guarded, he might’ve avoided this mess. Instead, he had jeopardized his birth-realm’s fragile peace with Odin Allfather and lost what little freedom he had in Asgard, and all for what?  _ All for nothing. _ He would never see Gwenonwy again, unless she chose to marry Thor; Odin would likely parade Loki out for the wedding, a living symbol of his power over Jotunheim and the rest of the Nine Realms.

It had been days since his confinement had begun, and while his accommodations were better than those of the other prisoners in the dungeon, the clear crystal walls of his cell put him totally on display. He despised it; with his magic bound away, he could not hide his true form, and every guard and prisoner who passed by him instantly recognized him as Loki Laufeyson. Some would mock, and some would jeer, and some would simply look at him in disgust. 

His thoughts turned often to his little elf-maid, wondering if Gwenonwy had noticed his sudden disappearance. Would she miss him, or would she find someone else to entertain her, someone better than a nameless prince with no kingdom? She did not strike him as fickle or flighty, but what reason did she have to remember him? He had never even told her his true name. 

Queen Frigga had sent a basket of books from his chambers down to him, and his rage and pain had finally dulled enough to allow him to focus on the words. He would have to ask the queen to stop sending him spellbooks, he decided; he wondered if she realized how futile it was, as he no longer had any way to practice with his powers. 

There was a commotion down the hall, and Loki sat up from his cot, desperate for any sort of entertainment. The rare comings and goings were the only things that broke up any of the monotony of his days in the dungeon. Loki couldn’t see the source, but he could hear voices; some were arguing, and some were murmuring, and Loki decided that he must be hallucinating, because he could swear he heard Princess Gwenonwy’s voice amidst the throng.

“If you have men in these cells,” her clear voice rang out, “then I will see them. Allfather Odin has promised my mother that I may put every man in Asgard to the test to find my suitor, and I will have no man excluded, no matter where he dwells.”

“But, Your Highness,” a guard protested, “there is no one in the dungeon but criminals and traitors - no one that a royal lady should be bothered with—”

“Stand aside, sir. That is an order.”

The great iron doors to the dungeon groaned as they opened, and Loki pressed himself against the clear walls of his cell, craning to see. It  _ was _ her; he would know her voice anywhere, and Norns help him, he was so eager to see her face again… But then he realized that the face he wore now was not the face Gwenonwy had come to know, and he recoiled as the torchlit party of Asgardian and Alfen nobility crowded into the dungeon, chasing after this latest excitement.

She went straight for his cell, as if guided by some invisible thread, her eyes widening as she placed her hands against the barrier that separated them. Loki stood as far away from her as he could possibly manage, hoping that perhaps the shadows might dampen the terrifying effects of his glowing crimson eyes, of his blue, patterned skin.  _ Whatever she thought of me before, _ he thought despairingly,  _ she will certainly hate me now. _

“Sindri,” Gwenonwy breathed, “my Prince of Ashes.”

Loki stared at her, afraid to move. Did she not  _ see _ him? Did she not understand?

Turning to the gathered crowd behind her, the little princess puffed herself up, her hands on her hips. “Release this man at once,” she demanded. “It was sworn by the roots of Yggdrasil that I would have the man of my choosing, and I have found him.”

An Asgardian lord stepped out from the throng, outraged. “Your Highness,” he sputtered, “this is Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim, a  _ Frost Giant—” _

_ “Loki.”  _ She turned back to him, her smile radiant, and Loki’s heart skipped a beat. “I told you that I would uncover your name sooner or later, didn’t I?”

He had to be dreaming, Loki decided. Either that, or it was all some cruel joke, and she would turn and leave… but she did not. Behind her, the crowd was in an uproar, but Gwenonwy ignored them all, her gaze never wavering from his face.

The soldiers and courtiers parted as Thor stormed into the dungeon, late to the excitement. “What is the meaning of all of this commotion?” he asked, gripping his war-hammer as if he was truly prepared to use it.

“My prince,” the lord said, stooping low, “Princess Gwenonwy of Alfheim claims that your foster-brother Loki is the one who has won her heart and her hand, but—”

“Then let him out,” Thor interrupted, waving the man away as if he was a bothersome fly. “Why is he still in his cell?”

“Your Highness,” another lord tried to argue, “the Allfather himself has ordered that Loki be kept here.”

“And Father has more recently decreed that Asgard would offer all of its assistance to help the princess find her missing husband-to-be,” Thor replied. “Now, open the door, or I will have  _ you _ thrown in a cell for your disobedience, my lord.”

The cell was opened, but Loki did not move an inch, frozen in place by the stares of those gathered beyond the door, by the tears in the eyes of Gwenonwy, who he had imagined he’d never see again. There was a pregnant pause, and then she rushed into the cell, cupping his face in her hands. “It  _ is _ you,” she said, her thumb tracing along one of the markings on his cheek. “I would know you anywhere at all.”

“Gwenonwy,” Loki began, “I cannot… I am not—” 

She cut him off with a soft kiss, and though the crowd outside’s chattering grew louder, Loki was far too stunned to notice. “I know that you were only visiting Alfheim for the food, my prince, but… I would very much like to marry you, if you will have me.”

A dazed Loki was marched up from the dungeon surrounded by soldiers and civilians alike, something of a parade forming as they made their way through the halls of the Allfather’s palace. Thor walked beside him, clearing any overly-inquisitive soldiers out of the way, and though Loki’s hands were manacled, Gwenonwy clung to his arm as if he was the greatest prize in the Nine Realms.

When they arrived in the great hall, the king rose from his throne, and Queen Frigga rushed down the steps of the dais, hesitating just before she reached them. “What is this madness?” Odin demanded, and Thor stepped forward, dragging Loki - and Gwenonwy, by association - along with him.

“I am pleased to say that our efforts have been successful, Father,” Thor said, his voice booming through the nearly-silent hall. “Princess Gwenonwy has found her missing suitor.”

The entirety of the hall broke out in excited whispering, and the Allfather rapped his great spear against the floor to call for silence. “That cannot be,” he said. “This is some trick; Loki was not even invited to Queen Fioled’s festivities. I am afraid that you must be mistaken, Your Highness.”

“I certainly am not mistaken,” Gwenonwy declared, her grip on Loki’s arm tightening. “This is my prince, and I will be taking him home with me tonight, Allfather.”

Odin’s good eye narrowed. “The treaty with Laufey of Jotunheim rests on his heir’s fosterage in the Realm Eternal. Loki cannot leave. You would not wish to disrupt the peace between Asgard and Jotunheim over some bit of mischief, would you, boy?”

“No,” Loki replied, hanging his head.

Queen Frigga turned to her husband, a disapproving frown on her lips. “And what if the princess can prove that Loki is the same man who won her affections on Alfheim?” she asked. “You have given a solemn oath to help her find the man in question when you thought that he was of Asgard, husband, and the King of Asgard is always true to his word. That could not possibly reflect poorly on Loki, or on the bargain that you have with King Laufey.”

Loki felt weak in the knees; one word from Odin, and he would be thrown back in the dungeon, or executed. Alfheim might not be a weak realm, but its power paled in comparison to that of Asgard, and the princess was in unfamiliar territory. 

“And do you have proof?” the king asked. “I am certain that someone would have noticed a Frost Giant strolling about Alfheim. Bring forth your test, and  _ prove _ to all of us gathered here that Loki Laufeyson is your suitor, Princess Gwenonwy.”

“I would be  _ delighted, _ Allfather,” she replied, beckoning one of her handmaidens forward. The maid offered her a little silver box, and Gwenonwy opened it, plucking out the delicate sprig of glass flowers that he’d given her and holding it high in the air. “The man that I love wields magic,” she said, stepping up onto the dais so that everyone in the great hall could see her. “I witnessed him turn living flowers into glass with my own eyes.”

Queen Frigga coughed delicately, and Thor started. “Then,” he said, “it should be easy enough to prove. One sorcerer cannot reverse another’s spells. Isn’t that so, Mother?”

“It is. Will you accept this proof, my king?”

“I will.” Odin had a look of grim satisfaction, and Loki’s hopes withered; the Allfather knew that his magic was gone, and Loki had no doubt that he’d only accepted Gwenonwy’s challenge because he was certain that Loki would fail. It wasn’t a fair trial, but it was likely the best chance he’d get.

With a gentle push on his shoulder, Thor sent him forward to meet his fate, and every step that Loki took felt slow and labored. Gwenonwy held out her hands, pulling him up onto the step beside her. She placed the sprig of flowers on his palm, closing his fingers around it, her smile encouraging. “Show them, Loki.”

“Princess, I—”

“I know you can do it,” she said softly. “Sindri, Loki, whatever name you go by, whatever form you take… I have found you, dearest, and I will not let you go.”

Loki looked down at the small token in his hand, a fragile thing - he’d never expected her to keep it for long. He closed his eyes, searching inside of himself for some lingering thread of power, something that had managed to escape the Allfather’s bindings. 

He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough, and despair swelled in his heart. 

There was a hand on his shoulder. Loki opened his eyes, and Queen Frigga stood on the step beside him, smiling gently. “It is  _ your _ magic,” she told him softly, leaning to whisper in his ear. “No one else can wield it, Loki, and no one else should tether it.”

There was a rushing, dull roar behind his ears, and Loki looked to Frigga in wide-eyed confusion as his magic burned through his veins. The queen stepped back to the king’s side, her features carefully schooled; Loki turned his attention back to the flowers.

“I love you, Gwenonwy,” he told her, and the color bled back into the flowers, the ice melting away as they reemerged in full bloom. “Truly, I do.”

Triumphant, she held his hand aloft. “See, Æsir?” she cried. “This Prince of Jotunheim is the prince who won my heart in Dinas Annwyn, tried and proven. Loki Laufeyson will be my husband and my king, and I will have no other.”

“His honor is besmirched,” Odin protested, “his name in ruin. Queen Fioled will not be pleased with this news, Princess Gwenonwy.”

“If he has nothing to his name but ruin, then may we live well and long as king and queen of the ashes.” She kissed Loki’s hand. “Now,” she continued imperiously, “someone remove these chains from my betrothed.”

“You heard Her Highness,” Thor told the Einherji next to him, clearly delighted by the turn of events. “Be quick about it. It is very poor manners to keep the future King of Alfheim in chains. Isn’t that so, Father?”

Odin gave a stiff nod of assent, and Loki’s manacles were removed, Gwenonwy practically throwing herself into his arms. He was not used to such blatant shows of affection, but his heart was too joyful to worry over appearances, and he returned her embrace eagerly, burying his face in her hair. 

She pulled away after a moment, wiping the tears on his cheek away with her thumb. “I suppose this means I am the victor, Sindri,” she told him. “I did uncover your secrets, after all.”

“You did,” Loki replied. “I will gladly admit defeat at your hands, princess.”

The court was loud and tumultuous, and Odin sat upon his throne in an impotent temper, furious with Loki’s victory but unable to break his word, especially with so many witnesses. Thor came to stand beside them, clasping Loki’s shoulder. “Go to Alfheim, Brother,” he said. “Mother and I will deal with Father’s temper; you’ve endured it long enough. We’ll have servants send your things along to Queen Fioled’s palace. You needn’t be trapped in this place a moment longer.”

“I will take very good care of him,” Gwenonwy said. “Thank you for all of your help, my prince. If I had not found him…”

“I have no doubt that you will be excellently suited for each other, Your HIghness. I am thankful that my assistance led to such a happy outcome.” He winked. “Do invite me to the wedding, won’t you?”

“Of course, Brother,” Loki promised. “Of course.”


	7. Matrimony

Loki stood in front of the Alfen court, a garland of flowers around his neck. Gwenonwy held his hands, beaming up at him, her crown of lilies turned to glass by his magic. Her gown was white as snow, but she’d had patterns in blue embroidered on it, patterns reminiscent of the ones that crossed his skin. He’d thought to marry her in the form of Sindri, but she had insisted that she found him equally handsome as an Æsir or Jötunn, and after many stolen kisses, hidden behind a garden trellis from their chaperones, Loki had finally begun to believe her.

There was a conspicuous lack of any emissaries from Jotunheim in attendance, but Loki couldn’t bring himself to be too terribly bothered by it; his family had given him up long ago. He no longer dreamed of them sharing in his joys and his sorrows. Gwenonwy was to be his family, now, and she was all that he’d ever needed.

The ceremony was long, and Loki paid attention to very little of it, too mesmerized by his bride’s eyes. She was his, and he was hers, and if it didn’t all turn out to be an incredible dream, she would be by his side for the rest of his days. 

Her dimple showed when she recited her vows, her smile too broad to be contained. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Loki smiled back. He’d hoped to seem regal and imposing, but Thor was right; he was smitten. There was no chance of hiding it.

“Dance with me, husband,” Gwenonwy said after they were declared man and wife, pulling him towards the middle of the hall. “We no longer have to hide in the shadows to dance; the whole realm can now that I have you, now.”

She seemed so proud, like she truly believed that she had a prize worthy of envy. The joy in her eyes was genuine, as was the way she leaned into his embrace to dance. Despite himself, Loki began to feel a bit of that pride, too. If someone so lovely loved him so wholly, then perhaps he  _ was  _ worthy of envy.

“I hope that I will make you happy,” she said as they danced. “I do promise that I will try.”

“You’ve already made me the happiest man in the Nine,” Loki replied. “I cannot imagine anything more.”

“Don’t be silly. We have our entire lives ahead, and I’m quite certain that I can make you happier.”

“And what would make  _ you  _ happier, little wife?” he teased, still marveling over the fact that he could call her his wife at all. “There must be something.”

Her cheeks took on a light pink blush, and she leaned close to whisper in his ear. “I am… I am very much looking forward to tonight,” she said. “I will be very happy to finally have you all to myself.”

“Is that so?” His hand slid lower down her back, and Loki hoped that his excitement wasn’t too terribly obvious. “I am looking forward to it, as well.”

When their dance ended, Queen Frigga stood waiting, a smile on her face. “I would like to dance with you, dear boy,” she said, “if your lovely bride will allow me to steal you away.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Gwenonwy said, and she kissed Loki’s cheek before handing him over to his foster-mother. “I will take this opportunity to seek out something to drink.”

“I am so very happy for you, Loki,” Frigga told him. “The princess is a sweet girl, and very clever. You will have your hands full, and I daresay you will enjoy every moment of it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I still don’t understand how you restored my magic, Mother, but if you hadn’t…”

“I simply gave you a nudge in the right direction. You will be a very powerful sorcerer someday; there is no one to stop you from practicing, now. Neither Odin nor Laufey can order you about on Alfheim.”

The thought of the two warring kings sobered Loki’s joy. “What will happen now? My father will not be pleased. The Jötnar do not care for the Ljósálfar. He has sent no word giving his blessing or censure for this union. Has he disowned me entirely?”

“Odin has spoken with him. They have come to an arrangement, though I will not pretend that either are happy about it.” Frigga patted his cheek. “Let them fret and fuss if they must. You are safe here, and Queen Fioled is more fearsome than she appears. She will not let errant kings cause trouble in her realm.”

“Am I being selfish?” he asked her. “The peace between Asgard and Jotunheim—”

“It isn’t selfish,” Frigga said firmly. “It was never right to make peace between realms rest on the shoulders of one boy, Loki. I wish that I had done more while you were young, but I cannot change the past, so I will tell you now that you deserve this happiness you’ve found. Don’t look back.” She kissed his cheek. “Alfheim is fortunate to have you.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Of course you will, and I do hope that you will write to me often and tell me how your spells are progressing.”

“I will,” Loki replied. “I’ll make you proud.”

“I am already proud of you, Loki,” she said, squeezing his hands as the song ended. She glanced behind him and laughed. “Now, let me return you to your wife; I know that she is eagerly waiting.”

The feast that evening was lavish, but Loki could hardly pay attention to any of the entertainers, because his little bride was sending him smoldering looks across the dinner table, occasionally brushing her foot against his. The fact that they sat on opposite sides of Queen Fioled at the head of the table made flirtation all the more terrifying, but Loki supposed there was no real reason to be afraid; Gwenonwy  _ was _ his wife, after all. Everyone present likely assumed that they were eager for their wedding night. 

He stood abruptly. “It has been a very tiring day, wife,” he said. “Let us retire.”

“Gladly,” Gwenonwy replied, and they both attempted to make the long walk to her chambers with as much dignity as they could muster, despite a very palpable urge to hurry. They’d had even less privacy during their brief engagement on Alfheim than they’d had during the balls, and several of the princesses ladies-in-waiting seemed to take particular relish in their torment. A peck on the cheek was all Loki could typically manage to bestow upon his betrothed before they chased him away like fussy hens.

It had nearly driven him mad, and given the glances Gwenonwy had been sending across the dinner table all evening, she felt just as desperate as he. They were both nearly running by the time they reached the hall where her chambers were located, laughing as they slipped inside her rooms and slammed the door behind them. Gwenonwy quickly sat her delicate crown aside and turned to him, beaming.

“You are so handsome, my Ash Prince,” she declared, standing on her toes to twine her arms around his neck. The garland of flowers was crushed between them, lending a sweet scent to the air. “You are always handsome, of course, but you are particularly handsome tonight.”

“You look acceptable enough, I suppose,” Loki teased, and when Gwenonwy gasped in mock outrage, Loki kissed her deeply - clumsily, too, at first, but with increasing confidence as she melted in his embrace. “You are the most beautiful woman in all the worlds,” he continued when they broke apart for a moment, “and you are kind and silly and clever, and I do not know how I managed to find you.”

“Technically, husband,” Gwenonwy replied, her eyes crinkling with mirth, “it was I who found you.”

“True,” he began to concede, but he was immediately distracted by the way his little bride had begun to unlace his tunic, and he decided that the only appropriate response was to attend to the fastenings of her dress with equal vigor. “Why are there so many lacings?” he asked, exasperated. “Was it designed this way to vex me?”

“Tear them,” she told him, fumbling to cup him through his trousers, which she was similarly struggling to unfasten. “I do not mind.”

Loki ripped open her pretty dress, pushing it down her shoulders and hips, taking a moment to appreciate the soft swell of her curves beneath her chemise before he divested her of that, too. She stood gloriously naked by firelight, her cheeks flushed and her smile bashful, her hands clenched by her side. Loki couldn’t speak. Loki could barely remember how to breathe.

“I hope that I… I hope that I am pleasing?”

It seemed to him in that moment that actions would speak louder than any words ever could, and so he took her in his arms and kissed her again, his hands wandering to explore any expanse of warm, soft skin within his reach. His trousers had grown painfully tight, and when she began to tug on the lacings again, her lips on his neck, Loki feared that he might embarrass himself before he’d even fully undressed.

“Wait, darling,” he said. “Let me.”

“Now that you are mine, I must insist that you wear clothing that is easier to be rid of, Loki.”

“Is that an order, princess?”

“A very serious one.”

He kicked off his boots and scooped her into his arms, carrying her off to her bedchamber. The coverlet was green, and he briefly wondered if it had always been that way, or if she had a new one made to reflect his colors. Loki placed her upon the bed, and Gwenonwy pulled the covers aside and lay down expectantly, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched him finish undressing.

_ “Oh,” _ she whispered.

Loki felt his own cheeks burning, but he pushed aside the urge to cover himself, to hide from her. “I hope that I am pleasing to you, as well.”

“You are very… I did not... “ She bit her lip again. “This is nothing at all like the illustrations in books. I feel very…”

He bravely climbed into bed beside her as she floundered for words, her blush spreading down to her chest. Loki kissed one of her breasts, and Gwenonwy made a surprised little squeak and arched into his touch. “Warm?” he suggested, for her skin felt as if it were on fire.

“Very warm, Sindri,” she breathlessly agreed. “Very warm, and  _ very _ pleased.”

“I have a confession, Gwenonwy.”

“Oh?”

She wrapped her hand around him, and Loki groaned. It was too much, and the wicked little smirk on her lips made it all so much worse. There was no one else that he could imagine this way, but he still felt ashamed to admit that he only had a very academic knowledge of such things. “I have never—”

“I am glad,” she interrupted, “for neither have I, and so will shall have to practice together.  _ Very _ often.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she sighed, kissing the sensitive spot on his neck that she’d discovered in her earlier explorations. “I am sure that we will both be masters of the craft before long.”

He felt like he might break her, fretted over hurting her, but the feel of her small body beneath him also stirred some sort of feral pride, protective and possessive. She felt safe and happy in his arms; he could hear it in her coaxing whispers, could feel it in the way she clung to him when he moved inside of her. 

She trusted him, and he trusted her. 

It took longer than he’d expected for her to adjust comfortably to him, and shorter than he’d hoped before he reached climax, but Gwenonwy did not seem to mind, and Loki persisted long enough for her to find her pleasure, too. Her nails dug into his back, her little cries muffled against his shoulder. “I love you,” he told her again, in case she needed reminding, in case she’d somehow forgotten. 

“Good,” she replied, wrapping her leg around his as she nuzzled against him. Her hair was a tousled mess, and Loki adored it. Gwenonwy yawned. “I love you most dearly, Loki. Though, I am cross that you’ve tired me; I did plan to stay up for most of the night.”

“As did I, to indulge my wicked whims with you.”

“Wicked? I am most intrigued.”

He kissed her head. “But you are tired, princess, as am I. I will admit that I did not sleep last night at all.”

“Neither did I; the excitement was far too overwhelming.”

“I feared that you would change your mind.”

“And why would I do that?”

Loki sighed and held her closer. “I bring you nothing,” he said. “I do not even know if my father intends to keep me as his heir, or if he will set me aside in favor of one of my brothers. I have no riches, no throne—”

“I  _ have _ riches and a throne,” she said. “Let Laufey make one of your brothers heir to Jotunheim; you will be King of Alfheim someday. I want you because you are my Sindri, my love. There was never a chance that I would change my mind.”

They lay there for a time, peaceful and sated, and Loki realized that he was on the verge of falling asleep. “I should go,” he murmured, reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed. “I know that it is scandalous for a lord to sleep in his lady’s chamber, but I confess that I would not mind your maids’ gossiping come morning if it meant that I’d have another moment in your arms.”

“It is a silly tradition,” Gwenonwy said. “I do not care to follow it, and you will have to escape my clutches if you’d like to leave.”

“Of course I would not  _ like _ to leave,” Loki said, amused. He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “Would you really be happier if I stayed?”

“Always.” She turned to peer up at him. “I would actually be very happy if we shared chambers. Do you think that you might grow tired of me?”

“Not at all, Gwenonwy. If I might make a request, however?”

“Name it.”

“The room in the tower where you hid me all those weeks ago… I would like to keep it as a study-chamber, where I might practice my magic. If you think that Queen Fioled would allow it, of course.”

“She will,” Gwenonwy assured him. “I think it is a marvelous idea, and mother is already excited by the prospect of having a sorcerer for a son-in-law. I can hire you a tutor from Vanaheim, if you’d like. Queen Frigga recommended it.”

“Did she?”

“She did. She said that I had found myself a rare talent. I am inclined to agree.”

Loki laughed. “You mean to spoil me.”

“I do,” she said, and then she yawned again. “But I will have to spoil you in the morning, my prince, for I fear that I can stay awake no longer.”

“Sleep,” he told her, and the soft, steady sound of her breathing soon lulled Loki to sleep, too.

He woke in the morning with Gwenonwy sprawled on top of him, a messy tangle of limbs and hair and sheets. He woke her with a kiss and they spent a very pleasant hour making love, and then they crammed themselves into her marble bathtub, which had clearly been designed with only one occupant in mind. 

“We will need a bigger bath, if you plan to make a habit of this,” he told her, rinsing suds from her hair. “I do  _ hope _ you plan to make a habit of this.”

“I do,” she replied, practically purring when he lightly scratched her scalp. “This has been the loveliest morning of my life, and I would be very happy to make it routine.”

“Are we expected in the great hall for breakfast?”

“Oh, yes. It will be extravagant, as we still have so many guests from the wedding. As you know, Mother loves her parties. We should likely be there already.”

Loki allowed her to pick out his clothing; she seemed to enjoy doting on him, and if it made her happy, then how could he possibly feel guilty about following her lead? She was his wife, his princess - someday, his queen - and while it was strange to have someone so wholly invested in his happiness, it brought him more joy than he’d ever imagined possible.

“I crushed your flowers last night,” she said, guiltily holding up the ruined garland. 

“My night was well worth the loss.”

She giggled and took his hand, and if she hadn’t been so conscious of the fact that she was now a married woman and expected to appear dignified, Loki imagined that she might’ve skipped down the hall to breakfast. They received some curious looks as they made their way to court, and Loki was surprised to note that many of the elves they passed had small smiles on their faces. 

Perhaps they found their princess’s enthusiasm infectious, too, Loki decided. 

Breakfast on Alfheim was a spectacular thing, and given the nuptial celebrations, it might as well have been a feast all of its own. Gwenonwy sat at her mother’s right hand, and Loki took his place beside her, pleased to find that their places were close enough that he could surreptitiously hold his wife’s hand if he felt the urge. 

“Well, Prince Loki,” one of the lords sitting across the table said, “I see that you are taking to Alfheim quite well. The clothing suits you, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Loki replied, “as does the company.”

“Good, good.”

“You must travel the realm, sire,” the lady beside him added. “You will surely enjoy it.”

“I fully intend to. In fact… if it would please the queen, I would like to take Princess Gwenonwy on a holiday to the mountains in the north.” He smiled and took Gwenonwy’s hand. “You  _ did _ say that you wanted to visit there, darling, didn’t you?”

“I did.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “May we go, Mother? Once all of our guests have gone, of course; I do think that it would be lovely this time of year, and Loki has seen so little of Alfheim.”

“Are you certain, dear? It will be snowing, you know.”

“I know. I think that it will be  _ very _ cozy. There is the cottage that we used to visit when I was small, the one near the river? Is it still in good condition?”

Fioled tapped her chin. “I see no reason why it shouldn’t be. I will have someone sent ahead to tidy up. I suppose it is good for newlyweds to spend some time getting to know each other. Court is so distracting.”

Gwenonwy beamed. “Thank you, Mother.”

“After all, I  _ do _ want grandchildren soon—”

Loki started choking on his water, and Gwenonwy reached over to pat him on the knee. He tried to compose himself, but he knew his blush likely gave him away. 

“My queen, don’t tease the poor boy so,” one of Gwenonwy’s cousins said. “They are both so young! There is plenty of time for children.”

Heirs were the most important reason for any royal marriage, but somehow, the idea of Gwenonwy having his children was something that he’d yet to fully process. She’d told him once before that she’d want a large family, and he could think of nothing more wonderful than seeing her smile and coo over their child… 

“We will see that the cottage is tidied up by the end of the fortnight,” Queen Fioled continued, smiling over her goblet. “I hope that you will enjoy it.”

When they returned to their chambers in the evening, Gwenonwy sat upon Loki’s lap by the fire, trying to decide upon which book she wanted him to read to her. “I do hope that Mother wasn’t too embarrassing,” she said. “She quite likes you, you know. She wouldn’t say such things if she didn’t approve.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. Fioled the Fair is very conniving. If she despised you or thought you unsuitable, she’d find some way to be rid of you.”

Loki laughed. “How very reassuring.”

“I truly mean it, Loki. Mother is pleased with you.” She kissed him. “More importantly,  _ I _ am pleased with you.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“This one,” she said, placing a book in his hands. 

“Poetry?”

“Love-poems,” she clarified, wiggling her eyebrows. “Perhaps they will provide some inspiration for the evening.”

“I don’t believe I need inspiration, dearest. You have me feeling terribly inspired already.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Loki replied, tossing the book aside and gathering her into his arms. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

“But, Loki, the book—”

“I’ll read it later,” he promised, and then he carried her off to bed, delighted by the way she twined her arms around his neck and peppered kisses along his jaw. 

Gwenonwy desired him - even the worst of his self-doubts couldn’t convince him otherwise. She  _ loved  _ him. She wanted to rule side-by-side someday, to bear his children, to curl up beside him each night and simply enjoy  _ being _ together. 

Loki was happy. 

~  _ Fin  _ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And they all lived happily ever after..."
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone! <3


End file.
